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Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


-  I 


-I      : 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  Oi  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  a>ter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


D 


D 


D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I      I    Covers  damaged/ 


Couverture  endommagde 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  pelliculde 

Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  gdographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


□    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

□    Bound  with  other  material/ 
Relid  avec  d'autres  documents 


Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  re  liure  serr6e  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  dc  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  intdrieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajout^es 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte, 
mais,  iorsque  cela  dtait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6t6  fiilm^es. 


L'Instltut  a  microfilmd  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  dtd  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  ddtails 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-dtre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  methods  normale  da  filmaga 
sont  indiquds  ci-dessous. 


I      I    Coloured  pages/ 


D 


Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommag6es 

Pages  restored  and/oi 

Pages  restaurdes  et/ou  pelliculdes 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxet 
Pages  d6color6es,  tachetdes  ou  piqu6es 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  ddtachdes 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

Quality  of  prir 

Quality  indgale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  materii 
Comprend  du  matdriel  suppl^mentaire 

Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 


I      I  Pages  damaged/ 

I      I  Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 

r^  Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 

I      I  Pages  detached/ 

rrpr  Showthrough/ 

I      I  Quality  of  print  varies/ 

I      I  Includes  supplementary  material/ 

I      I  Only  edition  available/ 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6t6  fllm^es  d  nouveau  de  fa^on  d 
obtenir  la  meiileure  image  possible. 


D 


Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppldmentaires.- 


Various  pagings. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  filmd  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqui  ci-dessous. 

10X  14X  18X  22X 


V 


12X 


16X 


20X 


26X 


XX 


24X 


28X 


3 


32X 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

D.  S.  Weidon  Library 
University  of  Western  Ontario 

The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
rhall  contain  the  s/mbol  ^^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


L'exemplaire  filmd  f ut  reproduit  grdce  d  la 
g6n6rosit6  de: 

D.  B.  Weidon  Library 
University  of  Western  Ontario 

Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  at 
de  la  nettetd  de  I'exempSaire  film6,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimie  sont  film6s  en  commen^ant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  salon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  ex  mplaires 
originaux  sont  filmds  en  commenpant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  — ►  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbols  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
film^s  d  des  taux  de  rMuction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clich6,  il  est  film6  d  partir 
de  Tangle  sup6rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


1 

2 

3 

t 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

ii 


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li 


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iWt4 


rp' 


Or,  MAN'S  LITE; 

Setting  forth  his  Nature,  Views,  Harmonies, 
and  Contrasts,   Virtues  and  Vices,  Restraints,  Temptations, 
Beniedies,  Victories,  Eesponsibilities  to  himself,  liis  Fcllow-Me.i,   and 
his  Saviour,  for  Time  and  Eternity. 


H 


^    §iU    Mml^r 


Some  Portions  of  the  Book  a  ChiUl  may  understand  ;  there  are  Others 
which  a  Man  may  Study  with  increasing  Interest  and 
Profit  all  his  Life. 

Pabt  Ist — Christ  and  the  Soul. 
Pakt  2d — ^The  School  of  the  He\kt. 
Pabt  3d — ^The  Candle  of  Life. 
Pabt  4th — John  Bunyan's  View  of  Lifk. 


BY 


Rev.  E.  H.  Gillett,  D.  D. 
Rev.  Gko.  B.  Ciieever,  D.  D. 
Rev.  Howard  Crosby,  D.  D. 


Rev.  W.  M.  PuNSHON. 


Rev.  R.  McGoNEOAL,  A.  M. 
Rev.  P.  D.  Van  Cleef,  D.  D. 
Rev.  D.  M.  Reeves,  A.  M. 


nearly  300  Illustrations. 


J.  H.  JEWETT   AND    CO. 
NORWICH,   CONN. 

SCHUYLER  SMITH  &  CO. 
LONDON,  ONTARIO. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1870,  by 

N.  TIBBALS  &  SON, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  tlie  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for  the 

Southern  District  of  New  York. 


r 

ir  the 


|0  every  household  in  which  the  lessons  of  sacred  wisdom 
are  accounted  a  necessary  element  of  family  training — 
to  every  social  circle  where  a  generous  fancy  can  com- 
bine amusement  with  instruction  ;  to  every  parent  or  teacher  who 
prizes  illustrative  art  or  pictured  emblems,  as  aids  to  impress  truth 
upon  the  mind  ;  to  every  mind,  youthful  or  mature,  that  can  derive 
pleasure  or  profit  from  the  recognition  of  practical  truth  in  human 
experience — this  work,  designed  at  once  to  arrest  the  attention  and 
impress  the  heart,  is  dedicated. 


\ 


'Tis  not  thr  wlmlv  of  life  to  live, 
Hot  M  u/Ututli,  Cu  die. 

Motitijomery. 


^^-^^ 


■■  THS    VK0K©.9    OH'   THE    WISE  A!iE   AS   GOA'^a,    AN'D   /i.^   NASLS 
FASTENED  BY  THE  MASTER  OF  ASSEMBLIES  '—So'.omcn.' 

[0,  the  central  figure  of  tlie  pajj^o,  tho  rrowii  of  thcjriia! 
This  is  the  most  eli  quent  of  all,  as  it  touchos  all,  unites 
™  all,  and  gives  value  to  all  else.  From  its  top  part,  one 
rose  in  full  bloom  hangs  down  into  the  open  area.  This  crown  is 
indeed  preface  to  all  other  things.  Above  it,  on  tho  right,  is  a 
feather  from  the  tail  of  the  peacock,  and  figures  human  vanity  and 
folly,  while  in  the  left  corner,  a  venomous  spider  spreads  lu'.s  web, 
to  entangle  there  his  prey.  Below,  on  the  right,  are  miniature 
globes,  with  crosses  on  them,  while  in  the  loft  corner,  are  emblems 
of  immortality.  On  either  margin  there  are  beautifidly-wrought 
works  of  leaves,  and  vines,  and  buds,  and  fruits. 

Looking  to  the  top  of  the  page,  wo  see  tho  emblem  of  the 
human  soul,  leaning  one  hand  on  the  heart,  just  in  front  of  it,  and 
moving  the  other  over,  and  above,  as  if  to  caress  tho  dove,  wliich  is 
in  the  act  of  graciously  brooding  the  heart,  as  if  the  Holy  Ghost, 
promised  in  the  Gospel,  to  do  this  work  of  loving  benefaction.  Thus, 
the  soul,  and  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  the  heart  of  man  are  brought 
most  intimately  together.  In  the  next  group,  there  is  the  soul 
dressed  out  as  if  in  punch's  clothes,  with  a  peacock's  feather 
depending  from  his  cap,  one  in  his  right  hand,  reaching  far  ba(;k 
over  his  shoulder,  while  his  right  foot  has  on  it  a  clown's  sandal, 
and  he  is  chattering  to  a  chattering  rook,  which  has  in  its  tail- 


A  LIFE 


•'VDW 


ftfiithers  ono  much  longer  than  liis  own,  borrowed  from  Juno*s 
bird.  Bulund  this  punstor,  llios  a  bat,  indicatin^jf  tho  twihght  of 
his  cart'LT. 

Nt'xt  appears  a  human  body,  having  upon  it  tho  lioad  of  an 
owl,  swaying  forward  and  back  ward  a  long  rod,  with  a  pngna-'ious 
olianticleor  perched  upon  it,  itself  armed  with  spurs  and  hooks. 
In  the  left  corner,  we  see  a  soul  in  a  sad  dozo,  hands  clasped  about 
tho  knoes,  head  leaning  over  it  in  sadness  and  sleep,  nnklo  chained 
to  tho  woi'ld  by  a  chain,  luado  of  a  band  of  stool,  and  a  cross  of 
stool,  while  just  befcn-e  him,  an  earth-monster  is  coming  up  out  of 
the  ground,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  mourning  captive. 

In  tho  foot  of  the  page,  we  note  that  tho  border  is  composed 
of  a  variety  of  images.  On  the  right,  is  a  figure  symbolizing  the 
hunuin  soul,  engaged  in  an  occupation  far  beneath  tho  abilities  and 
duties  of  an  immortal  being,  for  it  is  blowing  soap-bubbles,  with  a 
cup  at  its  knees  full  of  bubbles,  and  just  beyond  is  a  gaggling 
goose,  nmch  elated  at  the  achiovments  of  the  bubblo-maker.  On 
the  left  of  this  figure,  we  see  another,  one  of  hideous  death, 
laughing  over  and  admiring  the  soap-bul)blo  exhibition,  to  help  on 
tho  young  trifler,  while  the  right  hand  of  his  strength  is  holding 
the  tail  of  a  serpent.  Just  at  death's  feet,  and  beliind  him,  a  rook 
is  standing,  awaiting  his  festival-share  of  tho  bubble-blower,  when 
death  comes  into  possession  of  him.  The  serpent,  with  many 
strong  coils  and  muscular  twists,  is  destroying  the  life  of  a  human 
soul,  which  cries  aloud  with  tho  bitterest  wails,  appeahng  with 
upturned  face  to  the  skies,  while  both  hands  are  vainly  attempting 
to  tear  off  the  great  coils  of  his  oppressor,  whoso  open  mouth  is 
hissing  and  darting  its  deadly  fangs  into  its  victim.  Still  further 
on,  there  is  a  young  soul,  full  of  a  fruitless  kind  of  business — 
catching  butterflies,  by  swinging  a  scoop-net  in  a  most  lively 
manner.    A  frog  looks  ^vith  admiration  upon  the  sport. 


Prom  Juno's 
twilight  of 

I  hotul  of  nil 
inigna.'ious 
and  1  looks, 
ispcd  ubout 
klo  chained 
a  cross  of 
g  up  out  of 
ivo. 

3  composed 
aohzing  tho 
bilitics  and 
jIos,  with  a 
a  gaggling 
laker.     On 
0U8  death, 
to  lielp  on 
is  holding 
dm,  a  rook 
w^or,  when 
i^ith  many 
f  a  human 
iling  with 
ittempting 
mouth  is 
ill  further 
)usiness — 
est  lively 


* 


THE  r.TiNC}  OP  (Death  :ij,c:v.  anO  tiik  otrehoth  cf  sin :s 

THE  LA  W.    HUT  THANKS  HE  TO  00<D.   WHO  OIVETH  US  THE 
VICTORY,  THROUGH  OUR  LOR-mI  JESUS  CHE'ST.  '•-Paul. 

N  tlio  cuntro  of  tho  froutispioco,  vo  iiotifo  tlio  figure  of  the 

world.     Tho  globo  is  the  body  of  tho  peacock,  Juno's  vaiu 

bird.     The  tail  is  fully  spread,  nhowing  that  the  world 

carries  its  best  side  out.     Evangel  is  at  work,  jdunting  tho  cross  on 

tho  top  of  tho  world,  having  n  ludo  about  his  head,  iudioating  that 

ho  has  passed  from  death  unto  life.     Eviingel  is  cUiubing  iip  the 

table  of  tho  hiw,  for  this  kind  of  teaching  is  necessary  to  bring  the 

sold  to  p  desiro  for  tho  Gospel. 

A  little  sprite  of  evil,  topped  out  in  punch's  cap,  is  watching 
tho  process,  with  tho  serpent  l)elow,  with  Ids  war-chib, 
dressed  like  himself,  ready  for  action.  Just  at  the  foot  of  tho  law- 
tables,  an  evil  genius  of  temptation  is  holding  a  pomegranate  to  the 
open  in(nith  of  tho  maddened  serjiont,  wnoso  hissing  and  vibrating 
tongue  is  issued  from  his  mouth.  A  solid  basis  of  stone,  iutinmting 
the  solidity  of  tho  divine  purposes,  and  marked  by  a  cross,  showmg 
that  even  tho  firmest  purposes  of  God  are  in  harmony  with  tho 
Gospel,  is  in  the  midst. 

On  tho  stone  table,  there  is  a  death's  skull,  to  whlcli  one  of  the 
sprites  is  riveting  the  feet  of  the  peacock,  Avhile  on  the  left  of  the 
table,  and  leaning  against  it,  there  is  an  underworld  ag(,'nt,  with 
an  owl's  head  upon  a  luunan  body  having  wings,  scattering  e^  ils, 
from  Pandora's  box,  nuvking  a  sea  for  the  serpent. 


It 


10 


A    LIFE    STUDV 


To  the  left  of  the  main  and  central  figure  is  a  human  soul, 
engaged  in  plucking  the  showy  quills  oflP  it,  for  his  gratification. 
He  has  been  to  a  limited  degree  successful,  for  he  has  obtained  one, 
and  has  it  in  his  hand,  and  is  playing  with  it.  In  the  far  upper 
corner,  on  the  right  hand,  we  see  the  butterfly,  emblom  of  immor- 
tality, facing  the  scenes  below,  and  coming  down  to  mingle  in 
them. 

Hero  wo  have  the  court  of  the  emblems.  In  the  English  lan- 
guage there  is  not  one  page  so  rich  with  the  forms  of  symbolized 
thought.  All  the  greatest  principles  of  the  Christian  religion  are 
set  forth,  at  once,  intelligently  and  beautifully. 

Hours  of  pious  study  may  be  devoted  to  this  one  page,  with 
profit  not  surpassed  in  one's  life-time.  The  lessons  taught  us  are 
finely  voiced  by  Anna  Letitia  Barbauld, 

"  Jehovah  reigns ;  let  every  nation  hear, 
And  at  Uia  footBtool  botv  with  holy  fear; 
Let  heaven's  high  arches  echo  with  His  name, 
And  the  wide-peopled  earth  His  praise  proclaim." 

Now  let  us  turn  our  attention  to  the  symbols  of  the  bordering 
to  this  rich  court  of  emblems.  In  the  crown-piece,  there  are  four 
beautiful  figures.  The  world,  surmounted  by  the  cross  of  Jesus, 
shows  redemption  to  be  in  possession  of  the  race  of  man,  wreathed 
in  ornamental  work  of  vine,  and  leaf,  and  bud.  The  foot  and  leg 
of  chanticleer,  showing  that  pugnacity  has  a  spur  for  itself,  as  well 
as  for  others.  The  feather  of  Juno's  bird  is  the  longest,  has  for  a 
center  the  body  of  a  venomous  spider,  a  little  bell  of  vain  speech, 
and  a  large  one  of  vespers.  The  heart,  entangled  in  a  bow-string, 
is  proof  of  its  entanglements  with  an  instrument  of  pain  and  death, 
while  an  arrow  flies  towards  the  dove's  form,  as  it  is  coming  down 
out  of  the  firmament.  The  first  is  named  "  Mundus,"  the  World, 
and  is  attended  by  the  moon,  in  its  first  quarter,  or  crescent.  The 
second  is  called  "  Lubido,"  Desire.  The  third  is  "  Vanitas,"  Van- 
ity.    The  fourth  is  "  Amor,"  Love. 

On  the  right  border,  we  see  the  image  of  the  celeptial  world, 


A    LIFS    STUDY. 


11 


iiman  soul, 
ratification, 
tained  one, 
I  far  upper 
of  immor- 
mingle  in 

aglish  lan- 
jymbolized 
eligion  are 

page,  with 
ght  us  are 


bordering 
9  ai'e  four 
of  Jesus, 
wreathed 
3t  and  leg 
If,  as  well 
has  for  a 
in  speech, 
Jw-string, 
nd  death, 
ing  down 
le  World, 
mt.  The 
as,"  Van- 

ial  world, 


marked  "coelum,^^  crowned  -with  a  star,  and  the  emblem  of  immor- 
tality just  above  it.  A  vase  below  contains  a  miniature  heart,  and 
is  the  home  of  a  flowering  plant.  On  the  left  border  is  this  world's 
figure,  marked  "  terra,"  and  suimounted  by  a  cross,  and  above  it 
the  cap  of  folly.  Higher  still  is  a  plant,  bearing  miniature  worlds, 
and  the  Httle  crosses,  and  two  stems  of  evil  fruits,  inviting  to  the 
eye,  but  poisonous.  Below,  there  is  a  scroll-vase,  containing  a 
little  world  within,  and  sending  forth  a  plant,  that  bears  little 
worlds,  and  their  cross-ornaments. 

"  The  grave  is  but  the  portico  of  life— 
The  dark  vestibule  i  f  departed  souls." 

Let  us  now  turn  to  the  bottom  of  the  border.  In  the  left 
comer,  there  is  a  symbol  of  the  soul,  with  its  Latin  name,  "«w«»?a," 
with  a  star  of  Bethlehem  near  and  above,  while  danger  is  still 
nearer  and  below  it.  Next  is  the  body  of  a  venomous  serpent, 
spotted  with  wickedness,  its  mouth  open  towards  the  soul,  and  its 
tail  pointing  towards  the  hell  of  lost  souls.  Its  body  is  wound  into 
one  coil,  showing  that  one  coil  is  enough  to  threaten  death,  while 
its  figurative  name  *^  malum,"  indicates  the  great  tempter  and 
father  of  all  evil,  Satan.  The  emblem  of  death  is  that  skull,  with 
a  flowering  plant  growing  up  out  of  one  socket,  while  its  name, 
"  /ww«,"  is  on  the  band  above  it,  and  a  crown  of  glory  just  opposite 
it  on  the  right,  showing  that  death  has  rewards  very  near  its 
portals,  even  nearer  than  we  think.  The  harlequin-cap  is  sur- 
mounted by  a  cock's  head,  while  its  name,  ^^  stuUitia,"  foolishness, 
is  there  with  its  antidote,  the  hour-glass,  lying  in  plain  view. 

Thus  have  we  sought  the  import  of  these  emblems.  Things 
high  and  things  low,  great  and  small,  plain  and  abstruse,  far  and 
near,  have  thus  been  laid  out  in  this  most  instructive  picture,  while 
greatest  of  all,  the  king's  palaces,  and  grounds,  are  back  of  all  that 
we  have  seen,  reminding  us  of  a  few  lines  of  the  poet  Sandys, 

"  God  is  our  I  cfuge,  our  strong  tower, 
Securing  by  His  mighty  power, 
When  dangers  tlire;iten  to  devour." 


i 


:i!  .1 


"  SiMime  feror" — I  am  bomo  aloft. 

"  Tralior  infra" — I  am  drawn  below. 

'  Cum  Coelum  Ai^pkio,  Sohtm  Bespicio,"— 

While  I  look  to  Heaven,  I  spurn  the  earth. 


? 


::tXjTdJ" 


•T   A]£    THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    WORL<S.'-— Jesus.        THAT    V/fi.3    THE 

TRUE  LIGHT,    THAT  LIGHTETH  EVEI{Y  JJIAU   THfi.T 

COMETH  INTO    THE   W0<RLD. 


EHOLD,  in  the  picture  here  presented,  a  vision  of  Heaven- 


ly Light !  The  human  soul,  with  spirit-given  pinions,  is 
called  of  God  from  above.  A  beam,  from  the  sun  of 
Eighteousness,  sheds  its  glory  on  the  soul,  and  its  environments. 
Impressed  divinely,  the  soul  kneels  upon  the  Cornu  Copia,  which 
had  been  heretofore  filled  with  toys,  and  follies,  and  vices  of  the 
world,  as  its  chief  good. 

Now,  there  is  no  longer  any  love  for  such  things,  and  they 
are  being  poured  out  from  it,  while  the  Cornu  Copia  reversed 
bears  oHve  branches  of  peace,  and  it  is  thus  a  type  of  the  divine 
promises,  indicating  His  wealth  and  benefaction.  The  soul  drops 
the  instrument  of  music,  a  symbol  of  worldly  entertainment  and 
pleasure,  turns  the  back  upon  all  things  Earthly,  and  looks  to 
Heaven,  whence  the  vision  of  Heavenly  Light  has  come,  while  the 
hands  are  extended  upward  in  adoration. 


14 


jS.    LIFE    STUDY. 


In  the  crown  of  the  picture,  the  laxk  ascends  the  Heavens,  with 
extended  wings,  towards  the  morning  light,  as  it  pours  in  from 
the  East,  upon  the  highest  mountains,  uttering  her  early  welcome 
to  the  king  of  day.  On  the  right  and  left  of  the  crown-piece  are 
two  torches,  in  full  flame,  showing  how  Christiaiiiiy  meets  the  souls 
of  men,  as  they  lift  their  eyes  towards  the  throne  of  God. 

On  the  left  of  the  page,  is  a  globe,  placing  before  us  the  celes- 
tial constellations,  a  type  of  the  Heavenly  world,  surmounted  by 
the  Star  of  Bethlehem,  in  full  glow,  which  is  the  glory  and  crown 
of  all.  On  the  right  is  a  globe,  presenting  the  terrestrial  world, 
partiy  in  the  shadows  of  night,  and  partly  in  the  twilight  of 
morning,  while  the  cross  of  Jesus  Christ  is  on  the  top  of  it,  planted 
firmly  there,  as  the  interpretation  and  Sovereign  of  this  lower 
world. 

Beneath  the  central  picture  is  the  world  of  waters,  and  clouds 
are  above  it  The  time  is  night,  and  a  storm  is  upon  the  deep. 
A  ship  is  on  the  stormy  sea,  and  the  birds  are  upon  the  wing, 
while  the  gigantic  sea-serpent  is  coming  up,  from  the  deeper  parts 
of  the  waters. 


""lyvut^^ 


iiVens,  with 
's  in  from 
y  welcome 
i-piece  are 
J  the  souls 

the  celes- 
Junted  by 
nd  crown 
al  world, 
tilight  of 
t,  planted 
his  lower 


,f^ 


ad  clouds 
;he  deep, 
he  wing, 
per  parts 


-^7^_ 


hen  the.  lion  roars,the  beasts  o  I' the /ore  si  Ueep 
Icnce  ;  when  Jehovah  speaks,  the  inhabUtiiila  i,f 
world  ouff/it  to  stand  in  am: 


■SEARCH    THE    SCRIPTURES;    FOR    IN  THBJU    YE    1HINK     YE    HAVi 

ETERNAL    LIFE  ■    AND    THEY  APE    IHEY    WHICH 

TESTIFY    OF   ME. --Jesus. 


|HEN   Sir   Walter   Scott,   during   a  lucid   interval  of   his 
last  illness,  requested  Ids  son-in-law,  Lockhart,  to  read 
to  him,   he  was  asked  in  reply,   what  he  should  read. 
"There  is  but  one  book,"  answered  the  author  of  a  hundred  vol- 
umes, and  from  that  one  book  the  son-in-law  of  the  dying  genius 
read  to  him,  the  words  of  One  "who  spake  as  never  man  spake." 
"There   is  but  one  book,"   in  all  the  tens  and  hundreds  of 
thousands  which  human  pens  have  written,  or  human  eyes  have 
read,  which  speaks  with  authority  from  heaven.     Good  men  have 
^vritten,   and   sometimes  their  lofty  thoughts  and  pure  devotion 
seem  to  bear  us  upward  to  the  right  of  the  throne.     But  if  asked 
the  secret  of  their  power,  they  would  exclaim,  "Not  unto  us!" 
They  had  filled  their  lamps  and  lighted  them  from  the  heavenly 
throne.     They  had  quaflFed  from  the  streams  of  a  divine  wisdom. 
They  had  been  taught  as  Disciples  at  the  feet  of  Jesus. 

So,  admirable  and  useful  compendiums  have  been  mads  of 
the  truths  of  the  Bible.  Some  of  them  have  been  brought  out 
in  elegant  and  carefully  compacted  systems.  They  show  the 
grasp  of  powerful  intellect,  or  the  sagacity  of  scholarly  penetra- 
tion. But  they  are  only  patterns,  more  or  less  imperfect,  of 
what  may  be  seen  in  the  moment.     They  are  the  well-wrought, 


Kim 


-t 


la 


Jl.     LIFE    STUDY 


but  yet  dead  images  of  truths,  that  live  forever  ou  the  Sacred 
page.  All  their  beauty,  all  their  worth,  and  all  their  force, 
are  borrowed  from  a  Divine  source,  aud  are  proportioned  to  the 
exactness,  with  which  they  reflect  the  sacred  original. 

Here  we  see  "the  one  book,"  plac#i{ii*ne  scale  of  an  equal 
balance,  while  all  the  creeds,  confessionipdecrees  of  councils  and 
synods,  for  eighteen  centuries,  are  cast  into  the  other.  Much  of 
these  last  is  mere  useless  lumber.  Hero  are  decrees  then,  the 
words  of  false  as  well  as  of  fallible  men,  that  are  lighter  than  vanity. 
There  are  some  creeds,  in  which  grains  of  eiTor  are  mingled  with 
important  and  weighty  truths ;  then  there  are  others,  where  the 
error  is  so  extended,  that  the  truth  seems  smothered  under  it. 

Some  of  those  creeds  have  been  rigidly  imposed.  They  have 
been  made  the  pass-words  of  party,  to  exclude  from  the  Christian 
privilege,  even  those  whom  the  Good  Shepherd  would  take  as 
lambs  to  his  bosom.  Thus,  embodying  much  truth,  in  many  cases, 
they  have  been  made  stumbhng-blocks  to  weak  souls,  and  have 
obstructed  the  cause  which  they  were  intended  to  advance. 

This,  however,  little  affects  their  real  weight  for  this  is  to 
be  determined  by  their  nearness  to  the  sacred  stf'.nrlard,  used  as 
expressions  of  the  common  belief  and  experience  of  classes  of 
Christian  men,  and  means  of  understanding  and  adjusting  their 
mutual  learning,  they  serve  a  valuable  end.  But  if  the  world  were 
filled  with  them,  they  could  add  nothing  to  the  Word,  and  if  they 
did,  it  would  be  to  convict  and  condemn  themselves. 

Thus  "  the  one  book  "  is  seen  justly  to  outweigh  all  creeds  and 
confessions.  It  receives  direct  from  heaven  the  full  blaze  of  light, 
which  is  only  hereby  reflected  upon  them.  All  the  merit  they 
have  is  dependent  upon  these  scattering  beams,  and  among  them 
are  some  upon  which,  if  radiated  darkness  were  visible,  darkness 
would  be  radiated  from  the  haunts  of  error,  the  prejudices  of  sect, 
or  the  absurdities  of  "  infallible  "  imposers  of  creeds. 


ho  Sacred 
leir  force, 
led  to  the 


f  an.  equal 
uncila  and 
Much  of 
then,  the 
lan  vanity, 
nigled  with 
where  the 
3r  it. 

Ihey  have 
Christian 
d  take  as 
any  cases, 
and  have 


':'f 


this  is  to 
I,  used  as 
classes  of 
iting  their 
rorld  were 
id  if  they 

treeds  and 
9  of  light, 
lerit  they 
ong  them 
darkness 
38  of  sect, 


^^.5=^^ 


The  air  that  whisper'd  nnw  begins  to  mar ; 

That  lal*  waB  vmiic,  now  affright!  like  thunder, 
Thejlre  now  burnt,  that  did  but  warm  before. 


^ 


•Sm    WHEN   IT  IS  FINISHED    BRINOETH    FORTH    DEATH.  ■—Paul 


IIUT  yet  it  moves,"  whispered  the  Italian,  Gallileo,  as  he 
rose  froia  his  knees,  bending  upon  which,  under  awe  of 
the  Inquisition,  he  had  confessed  that  the  earth  was 
stationary.  But  yet  it  moves — moves  along  its  ethereal  pathway, 
flying  in  its  orbit  around  the  sun.  Yet,  that  is  not  its  only  motion. 
Invisible  forces  are  impelUng  it,  as  they  may,  whirling  it  on  its 
own  axis,  or  now  hastening,  and  now  retarding  its  speed. 

This  material  globe  is  one  thing,  but  the  living  world  of 
humanity  is  another.  This,  too,  moves,  but  who  has  mastered  the 
astronomy  of  a  depraved  nature,  flimg  out  of  its  orbit,  and,  like 
the  gigantic  fragments  of  an  exploding  asteroid,  scattering  con- 
fusion and  death  on  every  side  ? 

Society  is  moved  and  controlled  by  various  conflicting  and 
discordant  forces.  The  good  are  often  intermittent.  The  evil  are 
for  the  most  part  constant.  The  first  are  drawing  it  upward.  The 
others  are  dragging  it  downward.  A  much  less  force  is  necessary, 
in  the  latter  case,  than  in  the  former.  "  Facilis  descemv/a^'*  said 
the  Latin  poet.    The  descent  is  easy. 


PI 


£3 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


This  is  illustrated  in  the  accompanying  picture.  If  the  fabled 
I'luoton,  could  not  ntanugo  the  horsos  and  chariot  of  tho  Bun, 
there  is  no  human  or  cioated  spirit  sufHeiont  to  hold  iu  check  a 
world,  that  has  broken  lo(J8e  from  its  allegiance  to  God.  If  society 
had  on  earth  a  presiding  genius,  tho  great  mass  would  lecognize 
him  in  some  idol  of  power,  of  fashion  —  some  dazzling  hero  of  the 
battle-field,  some  bright  star  of  gay  saloons,  some  Bolbigbroko,  or 
Byron,  some  Marlborough,  or  Wellington.  But  what  care  these 
men  whitlier  the  great  world  of  humanity  drifts,  or  rolls,  or  moves  y 
Or  if  they  cared,  how  far  could  thoy  control  its  movements  ?  More 
often  they  sit  aloft,  perched  on  the  world's  heights,  and  plunging 
on  with  it,  grasping  no  reins,  imposing  no  check  upon  men's  evil 
propensities,  but  rather  impelling  them  on,  and  urging  to  larger 
and  more  dangerous  activity  the  baser  lusts. 

Satan  need  not  trouble  himself  to  give  the  world  a  charioteer. 
Leave  it  to  itself,  and  to  the  forces  that  are  hitched  to  it  and  drag 
it  on,  and  it  matters  little  who  sits  aloft  and  stupidly  dreams  of 
" progress "  and  "manifest destiny,"  when  "progress"  and  "mani- 
fest destiny"  are  evidently  downward,  and  when,  if  the  sleeper 
wakes,  he  find  himself  without  the  power  to  curb  evil,  and  perhaps 
without  the  disposition  to  do  it. 

So  it  is  here.  The  mischievous  simpleton  who  presides  over  tho 
desperate  experiment,  can  only  ply  his  whip  and  lash  to  more 
reckless  speed  the  vicious  propensities  whit;h  he  has  no  power  to 
elude.  These  propensities,  the  ruling  ones  on  the  world's  down- 
ward track,  are  symbolized  by  the  not  altogether  incongruous 
combination  of  the  goat  and  swine,  lust  and  gluttony.  On  they 
go,  blindly,  madly,  with,  even  pace  dragging  the  world  after  them, 
and  hurrying  it,  if  unwarranted,  to  some  sad  catastrophe,  sym- 
bolized by  an  open  grave.  Every  fence  of  restraint  is  broken 
through  as  they  press  on. 


A    LIFE    CTUDY. 


ts 


f  the  fablod 
)f  tho  8im, 

ill  check  a 

If  society 

Id  lecognize 

hero  of  tho 

jigbroke,  or 

care  these 
,  or  moves  ? 
ats  ?  More 
d  phinging 

men's  evil 
[J  to  larger 

charioteer, 
t  and  drag 
dreams  of 
nd  "maui- 
;he  eleeper 
ad  perhaps 


The  catastropho  is  foreshadowed  by  tho  bordering  of  tho  picture. 
A  blazing  crowd  sots  a  world  —  black  witli  guilt,  and  loaded  down 
by  the  beastliness  (symboli/ed  by  a  toad),  that  sinks  it  lower 
and  lower — on  lii-o.  A  winged  death's  head  exults  in  the  spectacle. 
Winged  monsters  with  open  jaws  bark  out  tho  horrible  news,  while 
the  slimy  serpent  lifts  himself  up  to  view  with  exultation,  the 
terrible  consummation  of  tho  tragedy  in  tho  earliest  scene  of  which 
he  was  one  of  the  actors. 

Thus  the  I^atin  motto,  mundiis  ad  excidium  ruit — "tho  world 
rushes  to  destruction,"  is  seen  to  bo  true.  Forces  are  drawing  or 
impelling  it  that  are  governed  only  by  their  own  caprice,  or  blind 
impulse.  They  must  bo  detached,  displaced,  dismissed,  and  others 
must  be  yoked  to  the  task  of  counteracting  what  they  have  done. 
Who  is  capable  of  accomplishing  this?  Surely  help  must  bo  laid 
vipon  One  that  is  mighty  to  save.  The  hand  of  an  imseen  bone- 
factor  stretches  out  the  cross  over  the  blazing  conflagration  of  guilt 
that  its  fierceness  may  be  subdued. 


es  over  the 
i  to  more 

power  to 
Id's  down- 
congruous 

On  they 
fter  them, 
phe,  sym- 
18  broken 


Iftia 


m 


h 


THOU    j^RT     WEIGHED    m    THE    GALANOE     ANL 
V/ ANTING.    -Daniel. 


FOUND 


ONDEE,  in  the  background,  is  the  grandeur  of  tlie 
world,  with  palaco  and  temple  in  view.  The  lofty 
structure  which,— surrounded  by  the  verdiu-e,  and  half 
shaded  by  the  trees*  of  a  noble  park,  towers  aloft,  commanding 
a  view  of  the  surrounding  scene,— is  suggestive  of  princely 
magnificence,  or  the  taste  and  lavish  employment  of  unbounded 
wealth. 

Upon  such  a  background  we  have,  set  forth  with  startling 
distinctness  and  prominence,  a  picture  of  real  life  —  a  picture 
which  few  concerned  in  it  will  at  the  moment  bo  dioposed  to 
regard  as  a  picture  of  reahty  — but  which  at  last,  when  the 
disappointed  actur,  like  a  celebrated  French  marshal,  is  forced  to 
exclaim,  "My  life  has  been  a  failure,"  appears  no  longer  a  sketch 
of  fancy.  The  world  is  to  be  weighed  in  a  balance  exqvisilely 
contrived.  The  beam  of  the  balance  is  an  arrow,  its- point  ahnost 
pressing  the  bosom  of  the  one  engaged  in  the  experiment,  and  the 
arrow  ia  self-poised  on  the  coru  of  a  suspended  bow.  In  front  of 
one  scale,  sita  the  world's  magician,  tricked  out  as  a  harlequin; 


iil'M 


£(9 


l:f2  htudy. 


m 

■i 


hii  fox-headed  cane,  ready  to  serve  as  a  club  to  knock  down  his 
victim,  lying  concealed  by  his  side ;  his  head  masked  with  trump- 
ery which  seems  by  long-eared  manifestatious  to  disguise  his  real 
character.  While  his  bowl  of  miniature  bubbles  is  placed  by  his 
side,  he  is  engaged  in  blowing  up  a  gigantic  one,  the  edge  of 
which  just  rests  upon  the  scale  and  presses  it  down  to  the  earth, 
insomuch  that  the  globe  itself,  thrown  into  the  opposite  scale, 
is  seen  to  be  Ughter  than  a  bubble.  It  is  thus,  that  the  un- 
satisfying nature  of  what  the  soul  longs  for  among  earth's  pos- 
sessions— ijven  though,  like  Alexander,  it  makes  the  conquest  of 
one  globe,  and  longs  for  more — is  grapliically  exhibited.  All 
that  Ir.st  can  attain,  all  that  ambition  can  grasp,  proves  no  more 
than  an  imposing  cheat.  It  is  to  be  accounted  '*  altogether  lighter 
than  vanity."  Quis  levoir?  ^^  Cici plus ponden's  addit  amor^^ — Which 
scale  is  the  lighter?  That  to  Avhich  Cupid  (passion),  is  adding 
more  weight?" 

Meanwhile,  outside  the  main  picture,  and  yet  encompassing  this 
visible  scene,  there  is  another  and  a  gigantic  balance  suspended. 
It  is  mo  exact  balance  of  an  invisible  providence  and  of  eternal 
truth.  The  tenant  of  the  palace  cannot  behold  it.  It  rises  aloft 
above  the  sphere  in  w^hich  he  moves ;  but  there  it  is,  suspended 
aloft  to  the  view  of  the  meditative  eye,  and  of  superior  intel- 
ligences. Here,  too,  the  bubble  —  in  tliis  case  fully  blown,  rests 
in  our  scale,  while  the  other  is  not  only  loaded,  but  overloaded, 
with  the  grandest  and  most  attractive  prizes  of  the  world's 
ambitions.  It  is  evident  that  one  has  been  added  after  another, 
to  adjust  the  balance  and  equipoise  the  scales,  till  the  experi- 
ment is  complete,  and  the  loaded  scale  itself  can  hold  no  more. 

Upon  examining  more  closely,  we  find,  that  first  was  "put  in 
the  flesh,  with  all  her  loads  of  pleasure."  Next  labelled  "mam- 
mon," "  Great  mammon's  endless  inventory."  Then  come,  "  the 
pondrous  acts  of  mighty  Ca;sar,"  ''  the  greater  weight  of  Sweden's 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


S? 


glory,"  "Scipio's  gauntlet,"  "Plato's  gown,"  and  "Circe's  charms." 
And  when  all  these  have  failed  to  bear  down  the  scale,  "the 
triple  crown"  of  pontifical  grandeur,  with  the  keys,  which  are 
at  once  to  "loose"  on  earth  and  in  heaven,  is  added,  hung  to 
the  edge  of  a  scale  that  can  hold  no  more.  Yet  all  this  mighty 
mass  is  insulfifient  to  balance  a  bubble,  which  by  its  superior 
weight,  is  even  cracking  the  end  of  the  beam  that  supports  it. 
No  wonder  the  Poet  of  the  emblems  exclaims, 

''  Lord !  what  a  world  is  this,  which  day  and  i\ight, 
Men  seek  with  bo  lauch  toil,  with  eo  much  trouble 
Which  weighed  in  equal  Bcales  is  found  bo  light, 
So  poorly  overbalanc'd  with  a  bubble. 

Good  God !  that  frantic  mortals  should  destroy 
Their  highest  hopes,  and  place  their  idle  joy 
Upon  such  airy  trash,  upon  so  light  a  toy." 

Thus  does  he  echo  the  sad  refrain  of  the  enthroned  philosopher, 
"  Vanity  of  vanities,  all  is  vanity." 


I 


\i)i 


l\    '^'i 


"Hell  and  night 
Must  bring  Viia  monstroiu  birth  to  the  world's  Ughl." 
'  ^  Shakespeare, 


1;. 
if' 

I 


111 


■■WE    AI^i^    NOT    IGNOIIANT    OF   HIS    DEVICES/ -Paul 

^N  the  subiirbs  of  Vanity  Fair,  Satan  finds  a  playground. 
Yonder  are  the  palaces  of  wealth  and  luxury,  and  the 
youth  that  are  nurtured  in  them  must  often  be  distin- 
guished by  the  superior  hazard,  as  well  as  costUness  of  their 
games.  Oftentimes  there  is  a  nominal  stake,  while  the  real  one  is 
not  mentioned,  or  even  recognized. 

The  gambler  sometimes  gains  or  loses  his  thousands  in  a 
single  night,  but  there  are  costlier  treasures  than  gold  can  buy, 
staked  on  the  issue.  What  if  they  are  not  counted  in  ?  What  if 
a  peaceful  mind,  an  approving  conscience,  a  loyalty  to  truth  and 
virtue,  steadfastness  of  principle,  pure  thoughts  and  industrious, 
honest,  and  noble  aims  are  altogether  overlooked  ?  It  is  as  if  one 
should  wrap  his  coppers  in  a  bank-note  of  a  thousand  pounds, 
and  without  a  thought  of  the  note,  fling  his  coppers  down  as  his 
forfeit.  The  note  goes  with  them.  Or  even  if  he  wins,  the  hand 
that  is  outstretched  to  grasp  the  prize  flings  down  perhaps  in 
taking  it,  what  is  a  thousand  fold  Tno^^  ^.xocious. 

In  this  picture,  we  see  Satan  playing  his  game  with  two  youths, 
one  of  whom  represents  the  flesh  and  the  other  the  spirit— one 
with  his  fool's  cap  suspended  aloft,  and  his  dress  after  the  Vanity 


HI 
1 


^ 


m  i 


ii'3: 


! 


so 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


I  \  > 


Fair  pattern,  suggestive  of  camab'ty,  and  the  other  with  his  wings 
and  in  simple  garb,  intimating  the  soaring  possibilities  of  the 
spiritual  nature.  And  in  this  game,  **  the  flesh  lusteth  against 
the  spirit,"  and  takes  the  part  of  Satan.  It  is  really  a  struggle  of 
**  the  flesh  and  the  devil,"  or  if  we  interpret  also  the  implements 
of  the  game,  of  "the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil,"  against  the 
soul  of  man.  Satan,  with  superhuman  sagacity,  plies  all  his 
skill,  and  is  aided  in  his  designs  by  the  part  which  the  flesh  takes 
in  the  proceedings.  It  is  true,  when  the  two  parties  are  con- 
sidered, one  with  his  infernal  cunning,  and  the  other  with  his 
unsuspecting  inexperience,  it  matters  comparatively  little  what  the 
game  is.  But  in  this  case  it  is  for  the  soul  a  game  of  life  and 
death,  as  is  plainly  intimated  by  the  fact  that  one  of  the  bowls — 
so  near  as  to  betray  its  features — has  traced  upon  it  the  face  of  a 
fleshless  skull. 

Satan  closely  watches  every  cast.  He  seems  absorbed  in  the 
game,  while  by  lending  it  new  excitement,  he  is  making  more 
sure  of  his  victim.  Perhaps  he  allows  him  to  win  at  first.  He 
would  even  yield  what  is  necessary  to  his  infatuation.  Then  the 
terrible  fascination  of  the  game  lays  hold  upon  the  spirit.  It  will 
venture  more  and  more.  Has  it  lost  by  one  game?  Another 
must  be  played  to  make  the  loss  good.  Another  still,  and  still  an- 
other follows,  till  disappointment  makes  the  player  desperate. 
One  more,  and  his  earthly  all  is  sacrificed.  One  more  still,  and 
hope  is  finally  surrendered.  One  more,  and  his  mad  infatuation 
has  plunged  him  down  the  awful  gulf. 

Abov3  the  picture  is  the  corona  triumphalw,  "  the  crown  of  tri- 
umphs," while  conquered  worlds  and  captured  fool's  caps  are 
suspended  with  it  as  trophies.  Beneath,  grasping  the  scroll  of 
destiny,  is  a  skeleton  Bhadamanthus,  seated  on  his  throne  of 
judgment,  with  a  darkened  world  in  the  background,  that  has  be- 
come a  thing  of  the  past.    Between  these  two  issues — the  crown 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


31 


and  the  curse — the  game  of  life  is  played.  If  Satan  triumphs,  the 
curse  shall  befall  the  spirit.  If  the  interposing  grace  of  heaven 
defeats  his  designs,  and  snatches  the  heedless  youth  from  the  net 
of  his  subtle  schemes,  the  crown  is  assured. 

There  is  a  horrid  magnificence  of  conception  in  the  ideal  sketch 
by  Retsch,  of  the  spirit  of  darkness  assuming  a  human  form,  and 
with  sinister  gaze  bending  over  the  chess-board,  whereon  he  plays 
with  man  his  game  for  his  soul.  Here,  too,  the  same  thought  is 
presented,  only  Satan's  fleshly  ally  is  depicted.  The  heedless 
youth,  representing  the  spirit,  and  venturing  more  and  more,  little 
realizes  what  he  is  doing.  Satan  is  playful.  Satan  enjoys  with 
him  what  he  may  deem  innocent  sport.  But,  under  the  form  of 
innocent  amusement,  he  lures  inexperience  to  ruin, , 

Romance  has  few  stories  like  this ;  but  real  life  has  many. 
They  have  been  written  in  bloody  sweat.  They  have  been  told 
with  sighs  and  tears.  Name  after  name  of  the  victims  of  guilt 
betrayed  by  confidence  of  inexperience  to  some  rash  venture,  from 
which  after  recovery  was  almost  hopeless,  brings  them  up  before 
us.  The  festive  cup  has  been  the  first  term  of  a  series,  the  last  of 
which — on  earth — was  the  gallows.  Men  have  bargained  peace 
for  plenty,  and  God  for  gold,  and  their  birthright  for  a  mess  of 
pottage,  without  dreaming  that  Satan  was  playing  with  them  a 
desperate  game  for  their  souls.  "Well  may  we  say  when  flesh  and 
spirit  are  engaged  in  their  game  with  Satan,  that  whatever  the 
prospect,  there  should  be  written  in  large  capitals  over  the  scene, 
uirmque  crepundia  merces,      **  The  gain  of  each  is  a  trifle." 


!!  n 


i 


', .  ii.> 


:'i''  'I 


M' 


k.tf 


iivs  to  (liid  alow, 
ihiul  itsi't/c."  -Cowpor. 


^^^^«(3^  ~^^r-x. 


■LET   HIM     DENY    HIMSELF,      TAKE     UP    HIS    CROSS 
FOL  L  O  W   J.iE.  •  --Jeaua. 


A  ND 


WOELD  without  "a  cross"  is  the  fool's  ideal  of  a  Tarii- 
dise.  To  his  view  it  is  an  unsightly  projection,  and  lie 
would  saw  it  off.  Mounted  on  the  globe  that  threatens 
every  moment  to  slip  from  under  him,  he  toils  and  sweats  to 
destroy  that  which  alone  can  furnish  him  a  secure  siipport,  or 
resting  place.  He  takes  no  interest  in  the  near  projecting  roof, 
or  the  distant  palace.  He  has  no  eye  for  the  inviting  garden 
or  the  wooded  hiUs.  All  his  attention  and  energies  are  devoted 
to  saving  the  world  the  incumbrance  of  the  cross.  With  his  old, 
rusty  saw,  he  would  cut  it  off,  and  let  it  fall  as  rubbish  into  the 
vaults  of  his  own  elegantly  wrought  structure. 

So  heedless  youth  would  shake  off  the  obnoxious  appendage 
of  religious  principle,  would  saw  it  harshly  away,  if  need  be,  and 
leave  only  a  smooth,  round,  genteel  world  to  deal  with.  It 
matters  not  that  this  is  the  soul's  stay  and  strength  —  that  it  is 
the  only  support  on  which  it  can  lean,  which  perches  upon  the 
world's  slippery  height.     It  is  "  a  cross  "  which  for  fashion's  sake, 


III! 

U'il 


H, 


If 

i  J 


,,   II 


m 


;)■ . 


fci'  m  ''I 


♦     M  I 


31 


fi    LIFE    STUDY. 


for  foar  of  ridicule,  or  to  keep  up  appouranoos,  must  bo  put  away. 
Enough  only  of  it  is  to  bo  loft  to  save  appoarunces. 

So,  too,  mon  would  have  a  roUgion  without  a  crosa  —  a  smooth, 
round,  s^Tnmetrical  rehgion,  that  thoy  can  roll  about,  and  play 
with,  and  commend  to  others  as  a  gratioful  and  elegant  thing. 
With  the  agiUty  of  liealth  and  strength,  and  the  false  peace  of  a 
sleeping  conscience,  they  feel  no  need  of  the  cross  for  their 
support,  and  their  superior  taste,  rectified  by  the  world's  new 
philosophy,  revolts  at'  the  unsightliness  of  the  cross,  sometimes 
pronouncing  it  "  the  central  gallows"  of  the  universe.  They  would 
not  allow  it  to  disturb  their  self-complacency,  or  come  athwart  their 
fine-spun  schemes  of  "  a  broad  way  "  to  heaven. 

But  a  world  without  "  a  cross "  would  be  only  a  universal 
Sodom,  with  fullness  of  bread  and  abundance  of  idleness,  waiting 
for  the  outpouring  of  the  fiery  deluge.  The  hardships  of  which 
men  often  complain,  are  the  necessary  conditions  of  their  well- 
being  and  their  blessedness.  The  stern  law  of  toil  has  been  more 
effective  to  keep  down  the  volcanic  forces  of  human  passion,  than 
all  the  statutes  of  Solon,  and  Roman  fables  and  institutes.  A 
hard  lot  has  often  cradled  true  greatness.  Noble  spirits  have  been 
rocked  or  waked  to  consciousness  by  the  blast.  The  grand  hero- 
isms of  life  have  been  born  amid  throes  and  agonies  of  struggle. 
He  that  would  smooth  the  path,  would  relax  the  muscles  of  the 
climber.  He  that  would  dispense  with  the  cross,  would  only 
secure  the  forfeit  of  the  crown. 

What  multitudes  are  engaged  just  in  sawing  off  the  crosses 
of  the  world;  in  making  life  easy,  comfortable  and  luxurious! 
They  would  have  no  unsightly  projections  about  them.  They 
would  adroitly  balance  themselves  on  a  slippery  world,  -without  any 
support.  Little  do  they  consider  how  much  more  wise  it  would  be, 
to  leave  duty  as  it  is,  solemn,  stem,  or  even  repulsive  in  aspect, 
than  to  trick  it  out  as  an  actor,  or  to  dress  it  up  as  a  monster. 


Jl    LIFE    STUDY 


H 


But  such  folly  is  ever  Bure  of  thia  inevitable  retribution.  Aloft, 
above  its  head,  are  the  compasses  that  take  their  exact  sweep,  and 
measure  of  its  desert  on  the  dial-plate  of  justice.  There,  too,  is 
tlxe  pawnbroker's  sign,  intimating  that  folly  is  engaged  in  that 
brokerage  of  principle  and  duty  to  which  the  deepest  infamy 
clings  ;  or  perhaps  tliat  pawning  all  is  to  bankrupt  itself.  To  the 
right,  a  winged  messenger  of  the  skies  comes  down,  bearing,  to  a 
a  barren,  cheerless  globe,  the  best-born  of  Heaven  —  a  cross!  To 
the  left,  a  globe  without  a  cross,  has  " Vanitas "  (vanity)  inscribed 
upon  it  —  though  flowers  and  peacock's  feathers,  wreathed  or 
Avaving  over  it,  enrich  it  with  all  the  gifts,  wliile  they  sbadow  it 
with  all  the  curse  of  pride. 

But  while  the  butterfly  alights  on  the  globe  from  which  the 
cross  has  fallen  ofl^,  and  makes  it  a  butterfly-world  —  the  scorn 
and  loathing  of  noble  spirits  —  there  is  seen  beneath  the  picture, 
the  form  of  a  human  heart  supported  on  the  arms  of  the  cross 
— itself  tlie  key  that  opens  the  gate  of  life  —  while  wreathed 
around  both  is  a  scroll  that  bears  the  inscription,  "  In  criice  qum 
ttita.^*  In  these  words  there  is  a  truth  expressed  that  has  been 
coined  out  of  the  richest  experience,  of  all  the  weary,  worn,  and 
heavy-laden,  who  have  found  peace  in  Christ.  They  assure  us 
that  "in  the  cross  there  is  a  safe  repose."  It  is  even  so.  Paul 
would  glory  in  nothing  else.  Greek  and  Jew  might  exclude  it 
from  their  creed;  shallow  experience  and  false  philosophy  might 
saw  it  oflf  from  theirs;  but  millions  have  sung,  and  millions  still 
sing, 

"In  the  cross  of  Christ  I  glory  " 


3ip 


I  I 


M     > 


i'     i 


I; 


I  I 


g^ 


"  And  oh   wiml  a   with-inij    tlml  tlefp 
3>tall  know 

At    the    p,al    oj     the.    Jmlgmenl  day." 


4i 


AWAKE    THOU    THAT    SLEEPEST     AND    CALL     UPON    THY    OOD 


HILE  Saul  slept  in  his  cave,  David  ontorotl,  and  cut  off 
the  skirts  of  his  robo,  instead  of  plunging  liis  spear  into 
his  breast.  It  was  the  act  of  a  generous  spirit,  designed 
to  remind  his  fue,  that  his  Ufo  had  been  in  his  power.  But  tho 
sleep  of  folly  is  not  as  safe,  as  that  of  the  king  of  Israel.  The 
intruders,  that  stand  ready  to  break  in  upon  it,  are  not  all 
Davids.  In  this  picture,  we  see  man,  represented  under 
the  foi-m  of  a  weary  child,  lying  down  to  reposo  by  the  side 
of  the  thick-set  hedge,  and  he  has  tho  world  for  his 
pillow.  Perhaps  he  dreams,  and  his  fancies  are  reveling  in  an 
ideal  world.  His  unstrung  bow  lies  fallen  by  his  side,  and  his 
loosened  quiver  has  been  laid  by.  Evidently  all  fear  has  been 
banished,  and  no  apprehension  of  danger  disturbs  his  repose. 
Far  off,  beyond  the  hedge  are  spacious  fields,  with  groves  and 
dwellings,  and  there,  too,  is  a  graveyard,  with  its  mute  memen- 


n, 


as 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


toes  of  mortality,  and  its  attestations  to  the  reality  of  that  cur^c  oy 
which  sin  has  blighted  the  world.  Nearer  by,  yet  all  unob.,erved 
by  the  sleeper,  the  stealthy  adder  is  winding  himself  iortli  from 
his  covert  to  seize  the  innocent  bird,  that  has  alighted  or.  a  lowly 
branch. 

Yet  the  sleeper  does  not  wake.  Right  before  his  closed  eyes,  a 
scene  of  brute  tragedy  is  going  forward.  Another  moment,  and 
the  serpent's  cunning  may  have  secured  a  victim.  Another  mo- 
ment and  his  burning  glance  may  rest  upon  the  sleeping  child, 
and  a  nobler  victim  incite  his  assault.  How  significant  the  lan- 
guage of  the  warning  scroll,  latet  hostis,  ntia  duels,  "My  enemy  lies 
in  ambush ;  you  are  taking  your  ease."  Aloft,  perched  upon  a 
globe  fashioned  of  a  skull  whose  grinning  features  are  turned 
toward  the  scene,  a  ccck  crows  his  warning  note.  Why  does  not 
the  sleeper  wake?  Fragrant  flowers  and  gaudy  butterflies,  in- 
deed, are  wreathed  around  the  picture,  but  there,  too,  are  thorns 
and  briars,  amid  which  the  noisome  bat  finds  shelter,  and  the 
deadly  serpent  is  coiled  for  a  fatal  spring.  But  poppies  are  min- 
gled with  the  other  flowers,  and  the  danger  is  unlieeded  where  its 
opiate  breath  is  felt. 

How  true  an  emblem  of  that  scene  through  which  our  daily 
paths  wind !  Here  are  unconscious  sleepers  around  us  who  have 
sunk  to  repose,  with  their  heads  pillowed  on  the  world,  or  on  what 
it  has  to  give.  They  feel  secure.  Bow  and  quiver  are  laid  by. 
They  sleep,  and  in  their  sleep  dream  of  danger.  One  listens  to 
ghostly  voices  whispering,  "Take  thine  ease;  eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry."  Another  meditates  self-complacently,  "Thou  hast  much 
goods  laid  up  for  many  years."  The  world,  too,  the  soul's  pillow 
and  support,  is  itself  one  huge  opiate.  Whoever  rests  upon  it 
takes  no  thought  of  anything  else,  lays  up  no  treasure  in  heaven, 
looks  not  to  "things  that  are  unseen  and  eternal,"  discerns  no 
great  adversary,  no  roaring  lion,  no  lurking  serpent,  no  prowling  foe. 


;  '::\\i 


: 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


S9 


And  yet  this  world  is  often  seen  to  be  almost  like  an  eastern 
jungle,  where  tigers  keep  their  lair,  and  venomous  reptiles  coil  un- 
seen. It  is  no  place  for  the  soul  to  sleep,  or  to  be  off  its  guard. 
The  path  that  leads  through  it  is  marked  by  scp.ttered  bones,  that 
tell  where  victims  died,  smitten  by  foes  that  gave  uc  warning  they 
were  near,  and  when  the  warning  came  from  another  source — as 
startling  as  that  which  reminded  Peter  that  he  had  denied  his 
Lord — it  is  often  unheeded!  Day  by  day,  with  sleepers  who  will 
not  wake,  though  we  shout  in  their  ear,  ITostis  Met,  "the  enemy 
lies  in  ambush." 

The  danger  of  the  soul  is  greater  than  any  that  threatens  the 
body.  The  rattlesnake  gives  warning  before  he  leaps  upon  his 
victim.  The  hon  roars  till  the  echoing  forests  tell  the  story  of  his 
presence.  The  dark  cloud  gathers  up  its  frowning  folds  before  the 
lightning  leaps  out.  But  for  the  soul,  the  lightning  sometimes 
seems  to  blaze  forth  from  a  cloudless  sky.  The  rage  of  passion  is 
curbed  by  shrewd  calculation,  and  the  tempter  that  wins  his  prize 
does  it  under  the  aspect  of  sociability  and  good  fellowship,  while 
the  great  adversary  of  souls  winds  his  way  into  human  hearts,  as 
noiselessly  and  stealthily  as  into  Eden,  once,  and  he  has  taken  full 
possession,  before  man  is  made  aware  of  his  presence,  or  the  flo-.v- 
ers  wither  at  his  breath. 


I 


■^ 


\§ 


k 


• 

j 

ii 

1,1 

1 

'i 

Ii 
1 

Ii 

■  Hut  the  place-it  was  fire  from  holiness, 
As  the   soul  of  the   Infidel" -Coxa. 


^::*^-^ 


■BUT  THE   LIPS   OF  A    FOOT,    WILL    SWALLOW  UP  HIMSELF 

THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE   WOI^DS  OF  HIS  MOUTH 

IS  FOOLISHNESS  ■■-Solomon 


|HAT  tills  globo  of  ours  goes  spinning  round  and  round 
under  our   feet,  us  it  flies  througli  space,    every  well- 
taught   Bchool-boy   knows.      But  that  this  living  world 
of  feeling   and  fancy   copies  its   example,    and  that  meddling  and 
mischievous   fancies   impel    it,    is    not  less    obvious    to    tlio  one 
who  studies  its  fasliions.     Here  we  see  Cupid,  with  his  unstrung 
bow  and  his  neglected  arrows,    busied  in    a  new   capacity.     He 
is   whipping  liis  top,    with  a  lash  of   scoi-pions   attached   to  the 
leg  of  a  crane   for   a  handle,   and  his   top  is  nothing   less  than 
the   world  itself,    spinning  in  the  midst  of   a  marsh  overgrown 
wath   rushes.      Meanwhile,    the    croaking  frogs,    allured   by   the 
spectacle,  come  up  from  their  muddy  retreats,  and  all-absorbed  by 
interest  in  the  exhibition,  enjoy  the  sight.     With  evident  wonder 
and  surprise,  they  observe  what  is  going  on,  and  with  philosophical 


'I  .III 


\m 


.1 


:  1 


limn 

m 
"If 


4B 


fi     LIFE    STUDY. 


V.   '  \ 


eedateness,  meditate  on  the  problem  set  before  their  eyes.  Under 
the  shadow  of  the  old  gigantic  trees,  the  sport  goes  forward,  and 
Cupid's  feat  ia  the  evident  admiration  of  all  his  beholders. 

Whether  he  is  moved  to  his  effort  by  the  simple  love  of  mischief, 
or  to  gain  the  admiration  of  the  citizen^  of  the  marsh,  or  whether 
he  is  impelled  by  both  motives,  he  is  still  acting  under  the  force  of 
impulses  which  have  a  great  sway  in  the  world.  The  motto  below, 
nig  vertitur  orhis,  '*  by  these  things  the  world  is  turned,"  is  still 
true.  If  we  suppose  the  hero  of  this  great  feat  to  be  aspiring  to 
make  a  sensation,  his  reward  is  the  upturned  faces,  and  the  eager 
and  surprised  gaze  of  the  surrounding  spectators.  Ho  is  setting 
forth  the  wisdom  and  aims  of  many  a  hero,  who  aspires  after  hu- 
man applause,  heedless  of  its  worthlessne^.s,  and  never  considering 
what  Pope  has  so  elegantly  expressed : 

"  One  self-approving  hour  whole  years  outweighs 
Of  stupid  Btarers,  and  of  loud  huzzas ; 
And  more  true  joy  Marcellus  exiled  feels, 
Than  Caesar  with  a  Senate  at  his  heels." 

This  busy  world  of  human  life,  spinning  on  like  a  top  from  day 
to  day,  is  driven,  for  the  most  part,  by  the  lash  and  impulse  of  very 
vulgar  passions.  Its  great  men,  its  noisy  men,  are  greedy  of 
praise  and  fame,  but  it  is  the  praise  and  applause  of  the  unthink- 
ing and  brutalized  mass  that  they  gain.  Sensible  men  despise 
them,  and  the  "fantastic  tricks"  they  play  before  high  heaven. 
The  world  whii'ls  around  under  their  lashings.  Like  Mavericks  or 
Shaftesburies,  they  make  or  unmake  kings.  Like  Bolingbrokes  or 
Arnolds,  they  scheme  treason,  and  display  adroitness,  or  rash  valor. 
Sometimes  they  take  upon  them  the  demagogue  form,  and  then  they 
are  known  as  Wilkeses  or  Gobbets.  But  their  reward — what  is  it  ? 
Tlie  admiration  of  frogs — the  croaking  of  bewildered  gazers ! 

All  this  is  seen  in  the  real  world  around  us.  The  picture  ex- 
hibits a  folly  that  seems  too  shallow  and  contemptible  for  any  rea- 


r-  i 


1     % 


LIFE    STUDY. 


43 


sonable  being  to  imitate,  but  it  is  not  merely  fanciful  or  fabulous: 

"  Horops  are  much  the  same,  the  point's  aerrecd, 
From  Macedonia's  madman  to  the  8wodi-." 

They  arc  simply  making  a  top  of  the  world,  and  they  are  spin- 
ning it  for  frogs  to  admu-e. 

While  this  game  goes  on,  all  the  best  interests  of  humanity  suffer. 

On  either  border  of  the  picture  we  see  a  vase  bottom  side  up,  to 

show  that  in  these  circumstances  nothing  useful  will  be  gathered 

up  or  retained.     Above,  w?  see  a  tomahawk,  and  a  bow  formed  by 

the  fold  of  a  hissing  serpent,  symbols  of  the  venom  of  passions  that 

are  let  loose  while  the  world's  heroes  spin  their  top,  and  feed  upon 

the  hollow  admiration  of  the  staring  mob,  on  which  they  are  just 

ready  to  trample.     To  gain  an  applause,  which  in   more  sober 

moods  they  must  despise,  they  wield  the  scorpion  lash,  discourage 

honest  and  peaceful  labor,  and  Uft  aloft  the  symbols  of  discord  and 
hate. 


J: 


M 


■»"    f; 


;■? 


,>n 


i 

1 
1 

,!  t 

r  r 

1      ! 

1             ■■'  1 

*     ''1 

THIS  IS  THE   VICTORY  THAT   OVERCOMETH  THE   WORLD 
EVEN  OUR  FAITH'— Paul. 


jE  must  siippose  the  radical  form  here  presented  to  bo  noth- 
ing less  than  the  glory-encircled  cliild  of  God's  everlasting 
Covenant,  the  heir  of  the  promise — the  church  incai'uatc  ou 

earth,  against  which  the  gates  of  hell  shall  never  prevail.  Here  we 
see  it  represented,  as  if  in  prophetic  vision,  returned  triumphant  from 
its  great  conflict  with  the  prince  of  this  world,  and  the  powers  of  dark- 
ness. In  a  divine  strength  it  has  won  the  victory,  and  it  comes  back 
with  its  trophies.  The  divine  halo  is  about  its  head,  while  in  its  left 
hand  it  holds  a  vanquished  world,  and  in  its  right  a  spear.  It  stands 
upon  the  serpent,  trampling  it  under  its  feet,  while  the  spear 
pierces  the  body  of  the  venomous  reptile,  and  pins  it  fast  to  the 
earth.  In  vain  does  the  latter  try  the  power  of  his  fangs  upon  the 
cold,  sharp  steel.  He  can  neither  free  himself,  nor  harm  his  con- 
queror ;  but  only  writhe  in  anguish,  and  die  by  inches. 


I 


43 


JL    LIFE    STUDY. 


The  symbols  of  triumph  are  also  seen  above.  The  hope  of  im- 
mortality, like  the  butterfly  at  the  spear's  point,  is  fearless  of  what- 
ever may  threaten  or  impend,  while  the  globe  encircled  by  its 
thorny  wreath  is  held  for  Him  who  wore  the  crown  of  thorns. 

Below,  we  see  the  flags  of  victory,  the  banners  of  the  church  of 
God  unfurled.  The  staff  of  each  ends  above  in  a  barbed  point, 
while  one  bears  the  symbol  of  the  cross,  and  the  other,  the  symbol 
of  life  from  the  grave.  Under  these  banners,  the  victory  is 
assured.  The  church  must  and  shall  triumph.  Nay,  it  has 
triumphed  already  in  the  purpose  of  God,  and  on  the  page  of 
prophecy.  A  strength  from  above  is  assured  to  it,  and  he  who  is 
"head  over  all  things  to  the  church"  will  not  suffer  it  to  be  over- 
come. The  world  shall  be  subdued  before  it.  "  The  old  serpent " 
shall  yield  to  its  prowess,  and  wounded  and  ^vrithing,  shall  hurt 
and  destroy  no  more. 

This  is  the  glorious  consummation  to  which  the  world's  eager  an- 
ticipation has  looked  forward.  It  has  found  expression  in 
prophetic  strains,  and  poetic  numbers.  Bard  from  bard  has  caught 
the  burden  of  inspired  prediction,  adorning  it  with  pecuUar  fancies, 
but  never  destroying  its  identity.  The  golden  age — it  is  felt — is 
yet  to  be : 

"  Thu  groans  of  Nftture  in  this  nether  world, 
■Which  heaven  has  heard  for  ages  have  an  end." 

Indeed,  these  groans  are  themselves  unconsciously  predictive. 
The  present  pain  and  burden  of  human  souls  crushes  out  of  them 
intense  longings,  that  go  up  like  prayer  to  heaven,  for  deliverance. 
Here  and  now,  amid  darkness  and  shadows,  we  feel  and  know  that 
we  need  the  dawn,  though  we  should  see  no  beams  to  herald  it. 

"  Hero  every  drop  of  honey  hides  a  sting, 
Worms  wind  themselves  into  our  sweetest  flowers." 

Traveling  the  burning  desert,  we  long  for  the  cooling  spring, 
and  to  the  church  of  God  the  pathway,  under  a  divine  leadership, 


I!     'l;.  I: 
11-  » 


A    LIFE   STUDY 


47 


18  opened.  The  longed-for  rest,  the  final  triumph,  the  conquest  of 
the  world,  bringing  every  thought  and  passion  to  the  obedience  of 
Christ,  is  just  at  hand.  It  is  even  now  before  us.  The  power 
of  evil  shall  be  broken.  The  poison  of  the  seri)ent  shall  hai-m  no 
more.  Under  the  unfurled  banners  of  the  cross,  and  of  lifo  and 
immortality  brought  to  hght,  the  church  sl.all  win  the  victory,  and 
triumph  over  every  open  and  every  secret  foe. 


^m 


1:' 


,/*"'""'% 


/ 


<f^_; 


.1^. 


">'■ 


r'-A 


'•  The  ilnv  ilnlh  vhffr  wlinl  i»  tlinlirst 
Till'  fio.itii  ill  tirfds  nijt  and  mnli-sl, 
III   liiith  t/ioii   u-orh'.tl  iiiilu  the  bf.<t."     V'liUL'liii. 


S^'-c' 


■^T    !S   VAJN    FOR    YCU    70  RrSE    UP  KARLY.    TO    in'  UP  LATE. 
TO  EAT  THE  BREAD  OP  SORROWS.   --Dai-.d. 


■ 


EEE  we  see  a  world,  without  a  cross,  omptyinj^  its  fullness 
into  a  human  lieart  without  satisfying  it.  'Iho  vanity  of 
both  is  signified  hy  the  fact,  that  a  skeleton  is  seen  on 
<Mther  side  of  them,  and  together  standing  on  the  heart's  base,  and 
supporting  the  world's  firniainent.  Grim  guardians  are  they,  for- 
biddhig  liope  to  intrude  upon  the  domain,  that  is  divided  between 
them,  while  the  symbol  of  the  human  soul  is  seen,  half-leaning 
upon  the  unsatisfied  heart,  and  yet  well-nigh  cast  down  to 
the  earth 

Here  it  is  depressed  and  humbled.  From  a  heart  which  the 
world  vainly  attempts  to  fill,  it  can  draw  neither  consolation  nor 
support.  On  the  other  side,  in  the  deep  darkness  irradiated  by 
stars,  the  darkness  of  nature  and  the  gloom  of  the  soul,  there  is 
u  cross  shooting  forth  its  beams,  and  sending  down  drops  that 
sparkle  as  they  fall,  into  the  vase  of  the  liuman  heart.  That  heart, 
lying  low  and  far  down  beneath  the  cross,  is  drinking  in  light  and 


.w 


rl    LIFE    J:UDy 


M 


Htronp;t]\.     Outsido  of  tlio  world  find  its  skolotou  Hoiitiiiola,  it  enjoys 

a  I'ulhifss  which  tho  whoh)  gloho  itsolf  cuimot  givo. 

Above,  wo  800  uu  Older  duck,  opoiiing  it.s  own   bosom  to  iord 

its  young.     Its  liio-(b'ops  iiro  oo/ing  forth,  and  thus  its  own  sull'cr- 

ing  and  sacrifico  food  tlio  liungt'r,  and  sustain  tho  Hl'o  of  another, 

suggesting  tho  niomory  of  tlio  lovo  that  bled  lur  nian,  and  teaohiug 

U8  to  exclaim : 

"  O  Saviour,  of  a  world  uiuloiu*. 
WlioHo  cljiiiij  HorrowH  blot  tin"  huh  , 
WlioHu  painful  groiuii)  mid  bowliii;  licud 
Could  rond  iho  veil  niid  wiiku  tlio  drud; 
Hiiy,  from  thi\t  cxerrublo  troo 
Di'scciids  tlif  ruddy  tide  for  mv  '. 
Ih  IIIh  doi'p  logs  my  bouiidli'H"  uMiu, 
And  comt'8  my  victory  from  liii*  i"iiri  i 
IIIh  duutli,  Ills  croHH,  IiIk  funeral  sleep, 
Instruct  repeiitiuiec  liow  to  weep, 
lie  poured  for  mo  tho  vltiil  flood ; 
My  tears  shall  mlnglo  with  his  blood." 

Looking  beneath,  we  see  why  tho  heart  is  h 
affliction,  and  sonietiniea  to  weep  tears  of  bloo 
ing  forth  its  precious  drops,  Avhilo  tho  butterfly,  as  tho  emblem  of 
immortality,  is  feeding  upon  them.  Tho  soul's  undying  Ixope  is 
nourished  often  by  the  heart's  own  wounds. 

Thus  tho  wise  and  kind  discipline  of  heaven  teaches  the  soul 
the  vanity  of  every  worldly  prop  or  refuge.  It  cannot  lean  upon  u 
heart  dependent  upon  the  world.  There  is  nothing  can  satisfy  it, 
nothing  that  can  sustain  it,  till  it  looks  away  from  all  created 
things,  till  it  rests  under  the  shadow  of  the  cross,  and  opens  its  own 
lieart  to  the  stream  of  bleeding  lovo  that  flows  forth,  therefrom. 
It  must  have  the  assurance  of  peace  and  forgiveness,  which  the  ex- 
perienced power  of  the  cross  alone  bestows.  Till  then,  it  may 
grasp  earthly  good,  it  may  even  empty  the  world  to  fill  its  longings, 
it  may  centre  all  earthly  pleasures  in  its  own  experience,  but  all 
will  be  found  unsatisfying.     It  will  sink  under  the  burden,  rather 


o  be  wounded  by 
'lere  it  is,  pour- 


fi  LIFE    STUDY 


tl 


tliiiii  l)c  cuiitlu'd  hy  tlio  possossion.  It  goes  Btoopitif?  niul  criisluKl 
to  tho  I'iirtli,  vainly  sigliing  lor  (lolivonuico,  mid  coiiscioua  of  it*4 
luisory,  whilo  pi-rliupa  umonMeious  of  tho  ciiU80.  Skoh-toii  guards 
will  sDcm  to  rcpol  it  wliuii  it  turns  back  io  tlio  world,  and  an  iin- 
Hutisliud  ln'art  will  wtill  bo  crying,  "give,"  "givo." 

But  lot  it  conio  under  tho  power  of  tho  eross,  and  all  is 
changed.  Tho  hour  of  darkness  and  despondency  has  passed 
luvay.  Drops  of  Hquid  light  will  bo  poured  into  it  from  the  inex- 
haustible glory  of  a  crucitled  Iledoejnor,  and  it  will  bo  warrante(' 
to  exclaim,  in  unwavin-ing  trust  in  his  grace,  "  I  can  do  all  tiling 
through  Him  that  strongtlunieth  mo."  Then,  not  only  tho  world, 
but  "all  things,"  will  bo  its  inheritanco,  and  ho  who  feeds  the 
young  ravens  when  thoy  cry,  will  satisfy  all  its  dosiros,  uud  suffer 
it  to  want  no  good  thing. 


m  ;■ 


.11' 


i  t  n 


"  .SVioiu  me  the  deed 
You'd  have,  me  do,  thaCs  fitting  fm-  a  man. 
And  though  it  tare  the  softest  string  i'mij  heart, 
I'll  do  t7."-Wliite. 
C 


•THE  SLUGGAI^D  WILL  NOT  PLOW  BY  REASON  OF  THE  COLD. 

THEREFORE   SHALL  HE  BEG  IN  HARVEST.   AND  HAVE 

NOTHING.  ■■—Solomon. 


HAED  lot  is  often  made  t\e  necessary  discipline  of 
the  soul.  It  will  heed  no  lesson  that  is  not  pressed,  as 
it  were,  on  the  points  of  thorns,  deep  into  the  Uving 
flesh.  It  is  love  that  presses  it,  even  while  the  soul  smarts  under 
the  pain,  and  unwittingly  and  unwisely  asks  that  "  the  thorn  in  the 
flesh"  may  be  taken  away. 

Here  we  see  the  afflicted  soul  breaking  to  pieces  by  heavy 
blows,  administered  by  itself,  the  little  worlds  of  its  former  idolatry. 
It  is  with  tears  and  sweat  that  it  performs  its  task.  It  is  hard, 
perhaps,  to  see  these  objects  about  which  the  heart  once  twined 
itself,  crushed  under  the  stroke  of  the  hanmier — to  see  them 
crushed  and  turned  to  worthless  rubbish.  Yet  this  is  what  those 
are  called  upon  to  do,  who  are  summoned  by  Christ  to  follow  him, 
bearing  the  cross.     The  language  of  their  hearts  must  be, — 

"The  dearest  idol  I  have  known, 

Whate'erthntidolbe; 
Help  me  to  tear  it  from  ito  t!  rone, 
And  worship  only  'i'hee." 


1 

li' 

1 1^ 

1   Is  if!; 

m 

11 

ii 

i     1 

Ki 

i 

11 

li 

64 


Jl    LIFE    STUDY. 


Earthly  hope  and  selfish  fancy  create  for  themselves  ideal 
worlds,  almost  without  number,  but  stern  experience  is  the  sledge 
wliich  breaks  them  in  pieces,  and  exposes  their  hollowness.  That 
experience  is  the  necessity  of  every  renewed  spirit.  It  must  macad- 
amize itt,^  own  path  with  the  splintered  fragments  of  its  own  vain 
idols. 

To  do  this,  is,  of  itself,  a  task  severe  enough,  but  to  do  it 
under  the  stroke  of  countless  lashes  stinging  us  while  we  toil, 
seems  a  needless  operation.  Yet  here  we  see  those  lashes,  almost 
innumerable,  worked  by  every  wind  that  blows,  and  chastising 
with  stripes,  the  toiling  soul.  This  is  a  superadded  discipHne, 
under  which  the  soul  must  learn  the  great  and  precious  lesson  of 
patient  endurance.  Its  earthly  lot  has  not  its  end  here.  Perhaps 
it  never  finds  its  full  interpretation  in  this  world.  It  is  a  mystery 
which  the  next  will  be  called  upon  to  solve. 

Looking  above,  we  see  the  perpetually-revolving  wheel,  with 
its  cogs  intended  to  turn  other  wheels  that  are  to  us  in^^sible. 
That  wheel,  with  its  ceaseless  revolutions,  symbolizes  incessant 
effort)  and  yet  their  cogs  show  that  it  has  an  end  out  of  itself,  in 
what  it  is  designed  to  move  or  effect.  Eestiag  upon  the  axle  of 
the  wheel  is  the  stalk  of  a.  whip,  the  main  lash  of  which  branches 
out  into  three  others,  and  each  of  these  ending  in  a  barbed  spear- 
point,  thus  indicating  the  iiresistible  and  terrible  force  by  which 
man  is  impell  >d  to  his  incessant  task. 

Beneath  is  the  spade,  together  with  arrows,  both  illustrations  of 
human  experience.  The  spade  seems  a  memorial  of  the  sentence, 
"In  the  sweat  of  thy  brow  shalt  thou  eat  thy  bread,"  which  the 
aiTows  suggest,  the  character  of  a  world,  over  which  the  prince  of 
the  power  of  the  air  exercises  an  usurped  dominion,  and  in  which 
his  arrows  fly  thick  and  deadly.  It  is  in  such  a  world,  that  the 
soul  is  called  upon  to  work  out  its  own  salvation  with  fear  and 
trembling,  persevering  in  its  tasks,  and  patient  under  all  strokes  it 


A   LIFE  STUDY. 


S5 


is  callofl  to  bear.  Let  it  do  this,  and  the  troubled  brow  shall  bo 
wreathed  in  sunshiuo.  Tears  and  sweat  shall  be  alike  wiped 
away.  The  light  of  everlasting  blessedness  shall  dawn  upon  it, 
and  all  its  toils  ended,  and  its  trials  passed,  it  enters  upon  its 
gracious  reward,  and  experiences  the  truth  of  the  infalhble 
assurance,  "He  that  goeth  forth  weeping,  bearing  precious  seed, 
shall  doubtless  return  again  with  rejoicing — bringing  his  sheaves 
>vith  him." 


I  ■:-..  1 


!  I 


\:\ 


«  ri  ! 


■-  I 


t    I 


'    .    I 


m  i 


HELP,  LORD.  FOR  J.'IEU  OF  FAITH  F/IIL. 


j|HIS  is  the  victory  that  overcometh  the  world,  evon  our 
faith."  So  wrote  one  of  the  most  venerable  war-worn  vet- 
erans of  Christ's  sacramental  host,  nearly  eighteen  centu- 
ries ago.  By  the  same  divine  energy,  by  which  the  soul  conquers 
the  world  witliin,  does  it  subdue  and  control  the  world  without. 
That  energy  finds  its  human  expression  in  "the  power  of  faith"— 
the  faith  that  "  wrought  righteousness,  stopped  the  mouths  of  Uons, 
quenched  the  violence  of  fire,  waxed  valiant  in  fight,  turned  to 
flight  the  armies  of  the  ahens." 

Such  was  the  faith  by  which  ten  righteous  men  might  have 

saved  Sodom,  such  the  faith  by  -which  believers  are  the  light  of  the 
world  and  the  salt  of  the  earth,  such  the  faith  that  leavens  the 

whole  measure  of  meal,  or  from  a  feeble  mustard  seed  expands 
into  a  tree  in  the  branches  of  which  the  birds  of  heaven  may 
lodge. 

There  is  no  blow  more  fatal  in  its  design  to  all  the  best  in- 
terests of  men,  than  that  which  is  aimed  at  a  living  faith  in  God. 
All  the  conservative  influences  of  social  morals  are  to  this  faith, 


I^H 


I:  • 


;|i:;.l 

k 


p 

III" 

i! 


ea 


■4    LIFE    STUDY. 


hilt  as  tho  sheaves  of  Joseph's  brethren  to  Joseph's  sheaf.  They 
all  bow  down  and  pay  obeisance  to  it.  Take  away  the  vital  ele- 
ments of  a  Christian  faith,  and  society  will  bo  a  carcass  without  a 
heart.  It  will  become  carrion  for  the  worms  and  maggots  of  in- 
trigue and  corruption  to  revel  in. 

This  is  the  truth  that  is  pictured  in  tho  emblem.  There  is 
Faith,  that  was  wont  to  soar,  sinking  with  clipped  wings  to  the 
earth.  Here  and  there  wo  see  falUng  portions  of  her  mutilated 
pinions.  The  sword  that,  wielded  by  some  invisible  foe,  has  done 
the  mischief,  has  not  altogether  triumphed  itself.  It  has  fallen  on 
the  cross  that  supports  the  globe  ;  its  point  is  broken  off,  and  it  is 
blunted  forever. 

Meanwhile  the  world  has  taken  upon  it  a  more  beastly  nature. 
It  is  putting  forth  bones  and  the  cloven  hoof.  Between  the  horns 
is  a  human  heart,  consuming  away  in  flame.  All  nature  feels  the 
curse  that  attends  upon  weakened  faith.  The  fields  become  waste 
and  desolate.  From  above  the  hea(^  3  of  ravening  monsters,  with 
open  jaws,  show  an  eagerness  to  waste  and  devour,  while  a 
darkened  world  pierced  with  arroAvs,  shows  the  fate  that  confronts 
human  prospects.  On  tho  right,  beneath  what  should  be  the 
crown  of  justice,  and  is  still  the  symbol  of  supreme  authority,  a 
serpent  is  entwined  around  the  sword,  from  whose  point  the  drops 
of  blood  fall,  indicating  that  a  serpentine  cimning  or  intrigue  en- 
tangles and  impedes  the  use  of  that  instrument,  by  which  justice  is 
executed.  On  the  left,  the  cross  is  seen,  with  the  spikes  that  shall 
support  it  or  pierce  its  victim ;  above  it,  indeed,  a  crown  of  stars, 
but  around  its  upright  part  a  wreath  of  thorns,  indicating  that  it 
has  become  more  repulsive  and  obnoxious  than  ever.  Beneath, 
tlie  face  of  a  horrid  monster,  in  the  stealthy  glance  of  whose  eyes 
we  discern  a  satanic  cunning  and  maUoe,  glares  out  upon  us,  and 
wreathed  around  it  are  the  thorns  and  thistles  that  suggest  the 
curse  which  his  presence  invites. 


1:  I J 


m 


A    LTFE    STUDY. 


«{> 


All  this  is  the  cliro  result  of  the  injury  done  to  foith.  Justice 
has  been  weakened  ;  violence  has  been  encouraged ;  the  cross  has 
been  made  more  reinilsivo;  and  Satan  has  been  loosed.  Those 
clipped  wings  are  the  secret  of  the  tragedy.  Behilitata  fiden,  terras 
Astrca  rcliqmt.  "Faith  has  become  powerless ;  Astrea  (the  goddess 
of  justice)  has  left  the  earth."  Cause  and  effect  are  thus  coupled 
together.  Put  the  hand  of  violence  on  Faith,  and  you  oppose  the 
very  vitals  of  the  world's  moral  life.  Without  faith,  it  sinks  to  the 
level  of  corruption  and  violence.  Without  faith,  it  invites  the  doom 
of  a  Sodom.  Clip  the  wings  of  faith,  and  human  hope  can  no 
longer  soar,  for  it  mounts  on  the  winga  of  faith. 


■f^'\ 


Light  and  ilarknftt,  life,  and  dtalh, 
Slrit't  within  :  each  feehlf  breath 
U'aiti,  the  issue,     IMp,  O  Thou 
Who  art  life— to  Thee  1  bow. 


.ilHil      !  q 


'•I  WILL  BEHOLD  THY  FACE  'IJ  I^raHTEQUSNESS.''-PB    xvii.  15. 


|ENEATII,  we  see  the  same  lesson  pictured  forth,  biit  with 
addititional  significance.  Here  a  guide-board  under  the 
figure  of  a  cross,  symbolizing  a  crucified  Redeemer,  is  the 
central  object,  while  on  the  right  is  Lux,  the  "light,"  and  on  the 
left  is  T''it(i,  or  the  "  life."  Light  and  life  are  the  soul's  need,  but 
the  cross  is  Via,  or  "the  way"  to  them.  By  this,  it  has  access  to 
all  which  a  cross-bearing  Redeemer  has  to  bestow  upon  the  soul 
he  died  to  redeem.  He  becomes  himself  its  portion.  "  In  Him  is 
life,  and  the  life  is  the  light  of  men."  Here  the  emblem  of  the  life 
immortal  is  presented  full  and  distinct,  for  now  the  light  falls,  not 
on  the  tables  of  the  law,  but  on  the  cross. 

The  lost  soul  needs  Christ,  and  the  mourning  soul  needs  the 
restored  light  of  his  countenance.  Its  experience  makes  it  bear  his 
departure,  or  the  eclipse  of  his  beams.  Again  and  again,  it  is 
forced  to  exclaim, 

"  Thou  art  my  way,  I  wander  it  thou  fly ; 
Thou  art  my  light;  if  hid,  how  blind  am  I ; 
Thou  art  my  life;  if  thou  withdraw,  I  die." 

It  is  in  the  soul's  calm  repose  upon  Him  as  its  all-sufficient 
helper,  that  it  rejoices  and  triumphs.  His  love  and  sympathy,  his 
wisdom  and  grace,  his  life  and  death,  his  finished  work,  as  at  once 


mt 


i 


, 


■;! 


'3         i; 


t  hi 


es 


Jl    LIFE    STUDY. 


i      t,     '■:! 


f-:st 


tho  Great  Ilij^h  Priest  nml  atoninpf  saorifice — those  gladden  the 
soul  Avith  Hght  from  heaven,  aud  restore  it  to  Ulb  aud  joy. 

"Dark  iiti'l  cIicitIphkIh  llie  morn, 
If  tliy  liglit  is  hill  truiii  viuw  ; 
JuyI>'H8iii  thu  ilay'H  ri'lurn, 
Till  thy  111  rcy'H  braniit  1  »ct — • 
'I'll!  tlicy  iiiwunl  llt[li  iinpnrt, 
I'euca  and  gliidiiuHH  to  luy  bcurt. 

"  Visit  then  this  soul  of  mine, 

Plcrco  thu  ^looni  of  Bin  and  grief ; 
Fill  mo.    Radiancy  divinu : 
Scatter  all  my  unbcliuf ; 

More  and  more  thy  self  display, 
Shining  to  thu  purfuct  day.' 

There  aro  times  when  the  renewed  soul  is  loft  to  walk  in  dark- 
ness. Even  then,  however,  it  will  testify  as  tho  poet  Cowper  did, 
when  someone  objected  to  him,  "your  rehgion  makes  you  gloomy." 
"No,"  replied  he,  "it  is  the  want  of  reUgion."  When  a  sense  of 
God's  love  possesses  the  soul,  and  it  lives  in  sweet  conscious  har- 
mony with  hun,  the  very  earth  seems  to  reflect  back  upon  its  in- 
ward peace,  the  grass  aud  flowers  are  clotho'i  in  new  beauty,  and 
the  soul  enters  upon  an  experience,  like  that  which  President 
Edwards  has  so  beautifully  described  as  his  own. 

But  there  are  times  when  the  divine  Ught  is  withdrawn.  It  is 
as  if  the  sun  was  echpsed.  A  gloom  gathers  over  the  face  of  the 
world,  and  the  soul  feels  the  oppression  of  it.  This  experience  is 
here  pictured  in  emblem.  We  see  one  around  whose  head  is  a 
divine  halo,  and  who  is  indeed  a  child  of  God,  yet  the  great  heart 
of  Infinite  love  is  partially  ecUpsed  by  the  world,  from  which  in- 
deed he  has  turned  away,  which  half  conceals  it  from  view,  and 
leaves  liim  to  walk  in  a  twilight  so  deep  that  the  stars  come  out 
from  the  darkened  heavens.  Saddened  and  doAvncast,  he  puts  one 
hand  to  his  eyes,  at  once  to  cover  his  tears,  and  to  shut  out  the 
gloom  of  surrounding  nature,  while  the  other  hand  is  unconsciously 
thrust  backward,  as  if  to  indicate  the  source  of  his  grief.    The  dark 


A    LIPE    STUDY. 


03 


world  is  interposed   between  him   and  "the   light  of  liis  coun- 
tenance." 

Above,  wo  see  a  perpetual  Eoman  lamp,  the  tables  of  the  law, 
and  the  emblem  of  the  resurrecvion  to  life.     We  are  reminded  of 
the  sacred  words— fit  counsel  to  the  downcast  soul  walking  in  dark- 
ness.    "The  commandment  is  a  lamp;  and  the  law  is  light,  and 
reproofs*  of  instruction  are  the  way  of  life."     The  law  of  God— the 
word— is  a  lamp  to  the  foot  of  the  Christian  pilgrim,  and  guided  by 
it  he  is  brought  to  Him  who  is  "the  Eesurroction  and  the  Life." 
Yet  it  is  to  be  noted,  that  while  the  light  of  the  Old  Testament  falls 
full  on  the  tables  of  the  law,  the  hope  of  immortality- which  be- 
longs emphatically  to  the  New— is  left  obscured  in  the  shadow. 


'\ 


tmMtt 


Kiirlh'if  firitle  it  Ul;f  Ih'  pnsnitty  Jlnirn; 
Which  rpringt  to  fall,  aud  bl(iisnm.i  but  tn  ilif. 


Ki 


rCR  WHO   KUOWETII    V/HAT  10  OOOD  FOR  MAN  IN  THIS  LIFE.  All. 
THE  <DA  y^J  CF  HIS  VAIN  LIFE  WHICH  HE  SPENDETH  AS  A 
SHADOW  ?  FOR  WHO  CAN  TELL  A  MAN  WHA  T  SHALL 
BE  AFTER  HIM  UNDER  THE  SUN?'—Eoo  vi.  IS 


EN  are  but  children  of  a  larger  growth."  The  little  child 
in  the  picture  has  become  discontented  with  hia  play- 
things. He  sita  on  the  ground,  with  flowers  and  verdure 
around  him,  a  world  for  a  rattle  in  one  liand,  and  a  neglected  one 
by  his  side,  which  has  fallen  from  the  other  hand,  now  thrust  up  to 
liis  eyes  to  wipe  away  his  tears.  Other  playthings  are  before  him, 
but  they  have  lost  the  power  to  pleuse.  There  is  a  frog,  made  fast 
by  a  tiny  chain  attached  to  its  leg,  to  a  rat,  and  the  two  strangely- 
conjoined  creatures  are  pulling  different  ways,  each  forbidding  the 
other  to  move  or  make  progress,  like  diverse  passions  in  the  human 
soul. 

On  either  side  is  a  bell,  the  one  on  the  right  bearing  the  im- 
press of  a  skull,  and  the  other  that  of  a  butterfly — one  ringing  the 


•l|(«  "' 


ii 


M 


I 


: 


I 


I'! 

I; 

ill,  •:.': ; 

It 


'J3 


^  ilia's  sTanr. 


r  ?^ 


aoui  to  death  and  tho  otlior  to  lifo,  oiio  with  its  emblem  of  the  grave, 
and  the  other  with  ita  emblem  of  the  resurrection.  Above  are 
heavenly  objects  and  instruments — the  heart-shaped  harp,  that 
gives  forth  to  the  skilled  touch  its  spirit-music — the  symbol  of  hope 
as  an  anchor  to  the  soul,  standing  fast  even  when,  the  symbols  of 
earthly  dissolution  are  hung  all  over  it ;  heaven's  own  bird  stooping 
down  to  receive  its  message ;  the  volume  which  holds  tho  psalmody 
and  music  of  angels,  and  beside  all,  the  sjTnbol  of  the  mystery  of 
the  triune  majesty,  Pater,  Filius,  S.  Sandus,  "  Father,  Son,  and  Holy 
Spirit."  Such  are  the  grand  and  glorious  things  above  our  heads 
which  the  child  of  earth,  now  amused  and  absorbed  by  his  play- 
things, and  now  disgusted  with  them,  has  only  to  look  upward  with 
the  eye  of  faith  to  behold.  If  it  heeds  the  warning  note  of  one 
ball,  it  will  look  up  from  its  toys  to  the  joys  immortal.  If  it  be 
simply  aroused  by  the  chimes  of  the  other,  it  will  weep  and  play, 
play  and  weep,  till  the  April  day  of  life  ends  in  the  everlasting 
night  of  tears. 

This  is  verified  by  the  motto,  Haec  ammant  pueros  ctjmhala,  et  ilia 
vivos,  "Theso  cymbals  rouse  boys,  those  men."  The  infant  is 
pleased  with  rattles. 

"A  little  playt'ilng  gives  his  youth  delight, 
A  little  louder,  but  as  empty  quite." 

Yet  this  delight  is  scarcely  less  transient  than  tlie  child's  amuse- 
ment. In  a  little  while  the  new  toy  satiates,  and  is  laid  aside.  It 
is  left  like  the  neglected  drum.  It  is  no  more  thought  of  than  the 
rat  and  frog  made  fast  together.  Tears  start  through  the  eyelids, 
and  the  fingers  are  raised  to  wipe  tiiem  away. 

This  is  a  common  experience,  too  cimmon  to  excite  surprise. 
The  things  that  are  most  covHied,  and  which  excite  disquiet  till 
they  are  possessed,  come,  ere  long,  tr  disgust  rather  than  please. 
The  soul  sits  wretched  in  the  very  midst  of  its  playthings.  It  is 
still  acting  the  part  and  suffering  the  disappointments  of  a  pam- 


lii: 


r  t 


A  l:fe  study. 


er 


pered  child.  Glutted  by  indulgence,  it  is  even  poorer  and  more  to 
be  pitied  than  at  first.  Desire  has  grown  upon  what  it  fed,  and 
has  even  outgrown  the  resources  it  can  command  to  satisfy  it.  It 
is  subjected  to  a  chronic  and  incurable  weariness.  All  its  pleasures 
are  the  chance  gleams  of  an  April  day,  alternating  betWeen  smiles 
and  tears. 

And  yet,  by  heaven's  art,  the  bow  of  the  child  may  be  made 
into  the  harp  of  manhood,  and  the  arrow  itself  shaU  become  the 
bow  of  the  harp.  The  cross  affixed  to  the  globe  shall  give  forth 
music,  and  a  riddle  more  wonderful  than  Samson'a  of  old  shall  be 
solved  by  a  sanctified  experience. 


I||l!   »'   ; 


I 
I 


I'     I 


m 


I 


Tlie  spider's  most  attniuate.d  threml 

Is  card,  is  cable,  to  man's liiidrr  tie 

On  earthly  bliss  ;  it  breaks  at  every  breeie. 


I     llill 


"  FEW  AND  EVIL  HA  VE  THE  DA  YS  OF  THE  YEJIRS    OF  MY  LIFE 

J-'-ZEN.  " — Jacob 


Ni 


IVE  me  wliere  I  may  stand,"  said  the  old  philosopher, 
Simoiiides,  "and  I  will  move  the  world."  Ho  wanted 
something  to  rest  upon  outside  of  it.  This  is  what  all 
men  want.  There  is  great  significance  in  the  motto,  Fnistra  qttis 
stahihmjigat  in orhe gradum,  "In  vain  may  any  one  place  firm  footing 
on  the  globe."  Many  have  tried  it,  but  the  world  has  reeled  be- 
neath them. 

In  this  picture  we  see  the  experiment  tried.  With  ruins  of 
ancient  structures,  proclaiming  earthly  mortality,  in  the  back- 
ground, a  beardless  youth  fondly  imagines  that  he  can  climb  tin- 
heights  of  the  world,  and  plant  his  feet  safely  upon  them.  Mount- 
ing by  a  huge  timbered  framework,  he  is  confident  of  achieving 
his  design.  But  before  he  can  fairly  accomplish  his  design,  the 
scythe  of  Time,  wielded  by  an  unseen  hand,  cuts  the  world— which 
is  but  the  stalk-supported  flower  of  a  broad-leaved,  luxuriant 
plant— loose  from  the  prop  that  supported  it,  and  down  it  falls, 
leaving  the  venturous  youth  to  his  fate.     His  unstrung  bow  is 


H 


ii 


¥■' 


70 


■fl    LIFE    STUDY. 


it' 


M 


Mr 


|i  i 


i ;  m 

If 


slipping  from  his  shoulder ;  his  quiver  is  emptied,  and  his  arrows 
are  scattered,  and  he  himself,  falling  with  the  support  on  which  he 
relied,  is  in  danger  of  being  precipitated  sheer  on  the  edge  of  the 
scythe,  left  neglected  after  it  had  done  its  work,  and  struck  the 
fatal  blow. 

Beneath  the  falling  globe,  a  human  skiill  symbolizes  the 
emptiness  of  human  hope,  and  the  vanity  of  himian  confidence. 
Above  the  pictoire  a  winged  hour-glass — the  wings  unequal,  com- 
bining the  bat  and  the  eagle,  the  soaring  and  the  fluttering — 
supports  a  globe  that  has  nothing  better  to  sustain  its  glory  than 
the  winged  and  fleeting  hours.  Even  the  hour-glass,  supported  by 
an  axis  that  runs  through  the  centre  of  a  cross,  rests  upon  a 
human  heart.  To  the  right,  coils  of  serpents  distil  their  venom, 
while  to  the  left,  suspended  on  flower-stems,  wheels  with  attached 
weights  serve  to  show  on  what  a  slender  thread  mortal  hopes 
revolve. 

This  is  human  experience  when  the  world  of  human  Ufe  no 
longer  finds  support  on  the  standard  of  the  cross.  Severed  from 
this,  it  sinks,  bearing  human  hopes  planted  thereon  with  it  in  its 
fall.  The  catastrophe  seems  to  emphasize  the  lines  of  Young,  in 
his  Night  Thoughts, 


B| 
CI 


"  Beware  wbat  earth  calls  happiness  ;  beware 
All  joys,  but  joye  that  never  can  expire ; 
Wlio  builds  on  less  than  an  immortal  base, 
Fond  as  he  seems,  condemns  his  Joys  to  death." 

If  man  had  no  inward  craving,  sometimes  more  than  half- 
stifled  by  sensualism,  reaching  forth  from  the  seen  to  the  imseeu, 
then  a  world  that  ends  its  service  for  him  by  furnishing  him  a 
grave,  might  support  his  hope.  He  could  at  least  have  no  hope 
more  dignified  and  enduring  than  a  Jonah's  gourd,  and  such  a 
hope  might  linger  out  its  little  day  on  the  faUing  globe.  But  like 
a  vine  that  reaches  after  a  prop  to  support  it,  grasping  straws  and 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


n 


weeds  in  its  tendrils  till  it  finds  it,  so  the  soul  of  man,  even  while 
it  clasps  the  straws  and  weeds  that  mock  its  trust,  is  feeUng  after 
something  higher  and  better.  It  is  bearing  witness  within  its  own 
consciousness,  to  its  birthright  as  a  child  of  God.  Let  it  cUmb  as 
high  aa  it  will,  in  the  pursuit  of  earthly  greatness  let  it  mount 

"The  steep  ivhtre  fame's  proud  temple  shines  afar." 

Let  it  amass  princely  treasures,  or  win,  like  Alexander,  the  mastery 
of  the  globe,  it  is  unsatisfied.  There  is  still  a  soul-hunger  that  is 
not  fed,  a  soul-thirst  that  is  not  slaked.  It  must  have  a  hope  that 
shall  be  "as  an  anchor"  to  the  soul,  or  as  a  rock  to  rest  upon,  that 
no  tempest  or  waves  can  shake. 

Where  are  these  to  be  found  ?  Gold  saith,  it  is  not  in  me, 
and  the  depth  saith,  it  is  not  in  me.  But  even  the  desert  wastes 
of  life,  the  centuries  echo  tho  words  of  him  who  eaid,  "  I  am  the 
resurrection  ,and  the  life."  He,  and  he  alone,  brings  life  and 
immortality  to  light. 

"  Religion,  Providence,  an  after  state  t 

Here  is  Arm  footing ;  here  is  solid  rock ; 
This  can  support  us;  all  Is  sea  besides ; 

Sinks  under  us;  bestorms,  and  then  devours. 
Ilia  hand  the  good  man  fastens  on  the  skies 

And  bide  earth  roll,  nor  feels  her  idle  whirl." 


i» 


1    '< 


m 


U  I'  ;•  5 


&' 


I 


wm 

WM  [ 

'I'm 
'.'  ■  if 


Hi 

w 

.  i.    ,  « 
r 


"TrJ 


Lfii-e.  ill  Ihesi;  labyrinths  his  slaves  detains, 
Andmighty  beastsare  bound  in  slender  chains. 


THE   HEATHEN  ARE  SUNK   DOWN  IN   THE   PIT  THAT  THEY  MADE 
IN  THE  NET  WHICH  THEY  HID  IS  THEIR  OWN  FOOT  TAKEN/— DJi':::.i- 


ONE  are  so  much  slaves  as  those  who  are  loudest  in 
boasting  of  their  freedom.  The  body  may  be  unfettered 
while  the  soul  is  tasked  under  a  worse  than  Egyptian 
bondage.  The  bonds  of  habit,  or  evil  association,  or  the  spell 
of  the  dark  enchanter,  and  the  wiles  of  the  great  adversary  really 
control  it,  and  determine  its  destiny. 

The  character  here  presented  to  view  is  that  of  him  who,  in 
the  wantonness  of  appetite  or  sensual  indulgence,  exults  to  show 
how  free  he  is.  In  his  right  hand  is  the  goblet  of  hia  revels,  and 
in  his  left  hand  th.e  symbol  of  vanity  and  luxurious  ease.  Ho  is  a 
modern  Sardanapalus.  He  can  raise  his  goblet  aloft  without 
restraint.  He  feels  no  manacles  on  his  limbs.  He  stands  erect 
and  exultant  on  his  own  feet. 

But  while  he  exults,  ho  is  a  wretched  captive.  If  he  look 
back  to  his  past  career,  ho  would  see  what  a  fire  of  retribution  it 


1! 
1! 

lii 
ij; 


HI 


I 


71 


■ft.    LIFE    STUDY. 


i  j' 


,i 


I 


I 


has  kindled,  forbidding  his  retreat.  Yet,  if  he  advance,  it  is  to 
envelop  himself  still  more  hopelessly  in  the  net  which  the  spirits 
of  evil,  whoso  presence  and  society  he  had  invited,  and  to  whom 
he  had  oflfered  his  soul  as  a  willing  victim,  have  thrown  around 
him.  It  is  true  that  his  sword  still  hangs  at  his  side,  and  ho  might 
yet  cut  his  way  out  by  the  strokes  of  a  resolute  will.  But  botli 
hands  aro  filled  with  the  objects  of  his  fond  idolatry,  which  ho  will 
not  surrender  to  secure  his  freedom  or  to  save  liis  life. 

Ijooking  above,  we  see  the  method  by  which  the  arch  enemy 
of  souls  snares  them  in  his  net.  We  see  the  spider  symbolizing 
him,  standing  watchful  in  tlio  centre  of  his  web,  and  that  web 
supported  by  and  made  fast  to  peacocks'  feathers.  Light  as  they 
see*^-,  ihey  aro  stable  enough  to  support  the  web  which  Satan 
weaves  for  unwary  souls.  The  merest  trinket  may  become  the 
idol  of  pride,  and  the  occasion  for  a  violation  of  duty,  and  a  fatal 
wound  to  conscience. 

Below  wo  see  the  snares  whicih  the  arch-deceiver  employs  to 
draw  his  victims  into  his  net.  There  is  a  jewelled  world,  sup- 
ported Uke  an  ornament,  and  the  support  itself  hung  with  bril- 
liants. Next  comes  a  splendid  crown,  the  prize  for  which  ambition 
has  sacrificed  loyalty,  and  challenged  the  agonies  of  a  guilty 
Macbeth.  Then  we  have  the  symbol  of  a  glutted  appetite,  the 
world  on  a  fork,  all  the  luxuries  and  dainties  of  the  globe  inviting 
to  taste,  and  repeat  for  the  individual  soul,  more,  if  possible,  than 
the  original  curse.  Finally,  we  have  a  symbol  of  knighthood, 
horse-hair  for  the  helmet,  serpent's  body  and  dragon's  head  for 
standard  ornament,  and  a  knot  of  ribbons  set  Avithin  a  central 
gem. 

Thus  is  it  seen  that  the  lures  to  evil  are  infinitely  various,  and 
each  draws  the  soul  into  the  snare.  In  a  thousand  ways,  before  it 
is  aware,  it  is  entangled  in  the  web.  It  i-j  from  the  whole  field 
of  human  experience  that  the  voice  of  warning  comes.     Prosperity 


A  LIFE  STUDY 


ra 


and  adversity,  plenty  and  want,  greatness  and  meanness,  fame  and 
infamy,  all  have  their  temptations,  and  with  temptations,  snares. 

"  Snares  In  thy  credit ;  gnnri's  In  tliy  dixgraco  : 
Biiarus  In  thy  hi,'h  uHLitu;  Rnarcs  In  thy  hasc  ; 
Snarus  tuck  thy  bod;  and  aiiari's  surround  thy  board ; 
Snares  watch  thy  thouj{hti< ;  and  rnarcs-attiick  thy  word ; 
Snores  In  thy  quiet ;  Bii;in.'a  in  thy  commotion; 
Snares  In  thy  desk;  and  snare*  In  thy  devotion ; 
Snares  lurk  in  thy  resolves;  snares  in  thy  doubt; 
Snares  llo  within  thy  heart ;  and  snares  without ; 
■    Snares  are  above  thy  liead ;  and  snares  beneatli ; 
Snares  la  thy  sickness ;  snares  are  In  thy  dealli ; 

llo  that  becomes  their  victim  is  held  a  prisoner.  Light  as 
they  may  seem,  allowing  him  to  boast  his  freedom,  they  are  like 
the  spider's  web  to  the  captured  fly.  The  soul  is  entangled,  and 
unless  it  promptly  cuts  its  way  out,  it  is  forever  lost. 


Il 


Touch  the  be'  !  the  wrathful  thing 
Quickly  fleet,  but  Uavet  a  sting. 


VV9 


AT  THE  LAST  IT  BITETH  LIKE  A  SERPENT  AND  STINOETH 
AN  ADDER  ■■-Solomon. 


LIKE 


jUPID  is  not  always  safo  himself  whUe  ho  plans  his  own 
pleasure   or  designs  miscliief  for  others.      Here  he   is 
represented  as  a  beardless  meddler.     He  has  attacked  a 
hive  of  bees,  in  the  hope  of  robbing  it  of  its  sweets.     He  ought  to 
have  counted  tlxe  cost,  but  Cupid— who  here   stands  for  \lind 
impulse  or  greedy  desire— never  deUberates.     Eager  to  seize  and 
enjoy,  and  resolute  stiU,  even  when  pierced  by  stings,  ho  seems  t» 
say,  as  in  the  motto,  ut  potior  patior,  "  That  I  may  enjoy  I  suffer." 
But  on  the  same  scroll  it  stands  ^vritten,  pattern  non  potieris,  "you 
shall  suffer,  you  shall  not  enjoy."     So  that  aiming  at  sweets,  he 
gets  only  stings. 

But  this  is  not  all,  the  foe  is  one  that  he  cannot  meet.  Bees 
cannot  be  subdued  by  arrows,  even  if  he  was  prepared  to  use  them. 
But  already  they  have  disarmed  him.  His  bow  has  faUen  un- 
strung at  his  feet.    The  winged  enemy  swarm  around  him,  alight- 


■?  ■ 


I 


ra 


fi  LIFE    3TUDY. 


i  m 


ing  on  liis  bosom  and  in  hiH  hiiir,  and  watchinf?  tho  opportunity  to 
stinj^  tho  hiuul  lil'tod  to  brush  tlmm  awiiy.  His  fond  hopo.s  havo 
givon  plu(!0  to  tho  torturo  botli  of  j)uiu  and  diaappointniont,  and  his 
loosod  <iuivor  hangs  usoloas  l)y  his  wido.  llo  would  run  tho  risk 
of  Hulfuring  in  ordor  to  possess,  but,  as  tho  fruit  of  his  folly,  ho 
sulTera  without  possessing. 

llow  diversely  is  hia  fate  regarded  by  spectators  frotn  above 
and  beneath !  On  a  uiiniaturo  globo  at  hiu  feet,  two  grave,  earnest, 
whiskered  sages  aro  holding  mutual  converse,  heedless  of  Cupids, 
of  arrows,  or  of  boos.  But  from  tho  heights  abovo,  a  pitying 
gazer  looks  down,  sympathizing  with  tho  sufferer,  and  excited  to 
hasten  to  his  relief  by  tho  sight  of  his  fool-hardy  daring.  Littlo 
does  tho  Butferer  know  it.  Ilis  averted  face  shows  that  ho  has  no 
thought  of  witnesses. 

Even  so  it  is  in  daily  experience.  There  are  Cupids,  passion- 
ate and  heedless,  everywhere.  The  hives  of  hopo  and  ambition 
are  before  them,  and  they  fall  upoa  them  with  all  tho  heat  of 
sudden  impulse.  Before  they  are  aware,  they  are  punctured  by 
couutless  stings,  and  are  forced  to  leave  the  sweets  they  sought 
untasted  and  unpossessed.  ' 

To  superior  intelligences  they  are  objects  of  compassion.  Lower 
natures,  debased  to  a  brutal  level,  are  unconcerned  for  their  mis- 
fortunes, but  one  eye  of  love  is  fixed  upon  them,  even  in  their 
folly,  and  one  voice  of  kindness  would  call  them  off  from  their 
rash  designs.  But  too  often,  with  averted  face,  they  see  not,  nor 
heed.  They  have  made  themselves  defenceless,  and  provoked  the 
aroused  foes.  Youth  may  still  be  theirs,  and  the  flowers  may 
bloom  over  their  heads,  and  foliage,  amid  which  the  cards  and 
jester's  cap  are  hung,  but  they  are  wretched,  the  tortured  victims 
of  their  own  folly. 

Clustered  around  the  picture  are  certain  expressive  symbols. 
Amid  flowers  and  wreaths  an  acorn  to  the  right  suggests  what 


n 


A     LIFE    STUDY. 


79 


groat  msults  may  flow  from  fooblo  causos.     To  tho  loft,  a  k„otte.l 
co.l  „f  H„ri,o„t.s,  liko  human  paasionn,  gnawinj.  an.l  fo.:li„jj  upon 
ono  anothor,  loavo  thoir  minglo.l  bl„od  and  poison  to  di.til   in 
stroums  into  tho  rocoptado  of  a  luunan   hoart.     Ah(,vo,  a  randon. 
arrovv  from  an  unsoon  8our,,o,  aimod  at  a  liornot  .u-awling  ovor  its 
nest,  8triko8  a  hoart  from  which  tho  lifo-drops  oo/.,   forth.      Uo- 
noath,  luunan  porvorsity,  which  travok  backwanl,  or  sooks  nvil 
ends  by  crooked  means,  fin.ls  an  omblonx  in  ono  of  tho  most  vicious 
of  tho  8lielly  tenants  of  tho  deep.     Fitly  does  tlio  eye  turn  away 
from  tho  obnoxious  sight  to  rest  upon  tho  empty  comb  that  speaks 
the  vain  issue  of  unwiso  aims  and  impulsive  endeavors.     In  such  a 
setting  wo  have  tho  picture  of  human  passion  finding  its  rebuke 
and  punishment  in  tho  result  of  its  own  impulses. 


:  15 


h 


,: « 


! 


■  li 


I 

W'i' 
ft  ;■ ' 


Vi% 


iK  ^ 


'  ''  ■'■I  T 


:viri 
ri. 


n'Ualisprkir  f  n  whizilnij  rrnl;! 
TluU  tvvtjltl  imulali-  n  ,«,'.|,-. 

Wonlriwortl 


M  1 


■pr:de  goe:-h  h-.j-^i^K  -Ss^rrRUOTsoN.    pRjoh 

LOW    -Solomori^ 


:'ALL  PRU'JO  HJ/^ 


|F  the  soul  of  man  is  a  castle  to  be  kept,  tlie  oyo  is  one 
of  Its  gates  that  needs  to  be  most  closely  watched.  It  U 
by  tliis  gate  that  the  foe  is  most  apt  to  enter.  This  is  the 
gate  which  he  who  designs  to  dolus  villainous  work  of  treason^ 
may  pass  almost  unnoticed,  nu.y  enter  as  a  mere  image  or  fleeting 
impression,  and  then  stealthily  execute  his  purpose. 

In  this  emblem  we  are  taught  the  danger  which  threatens 
rem  'the  lusts  of  the  eye,"  as  well  as  from  "the  pride  of  life" 
We  see  the  carnal  mind  so  eurroundod  by  vain  objects,  that  the  eye 
can  rest  upon  nothing  else.  It  is  itself,  indeed,  fairly  robed  with 
temptation.  Its  fools-cap  is  upon  its  head,  and  bound  close  about 
the  neck,  oppresses  the  brain,  while  from  its  top  an  ostrich  feather 
indicating  the  pride  of  display,  is  seen  t<.  wave.  In  one  hand  it 
holds  the  symbol  of  the  sceptre  of  worlcUy  pleasure,  hung  with 


:,it 


, 


83 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


ornamonts,  while  vanity  is  seen  plainly  written  upon  tlio  fan  that  is 
held  in  the  other.  Even  its  feet  aro  buuud  by  an  elegant  silken 
fetter. 

By  the  side  of  this  figure  i.s  a  pipe  with  a  liowl  of  bubbles, 
fillcii  to  overflowing.  They  have  been  distiubuted  abroad  also,  till 
the  air  is  full  of  them,  and  they  aro  seen  falling  v.pon  eveiy  3ide. 
In  the  whole  paiu)rania,  the  soul  discerns  only  wi>at  is  ^aiu  and 
worthless,  for  the  rough  earth  on  wliich  it  stands  appears  repulsive, 
and  does  not  invite  its  gaze. 

Yet  its  true  wisdom  is  symbolized  by  what  we  see  above, 
a  l)lindfoldpu  eye.  It  should  make  it  its  con.stant  prayer,  "  Turn 
away  my  eyes  from  beholding  vanity."  There  is  no  other  safety  for 
it.  It  ij  through  the  eye  that  tlie  infection  of  sin  takes  effect. 
The  image  of  vanity  or  guilty  pleasure  is  born  into  the  soul,  and 
excites  its  passions  and  pois<ins  its  pei*ce.  It  enters  also  so  silently! 
There  is  no  tramp  of  a  steel-bound  foe ;  no  violent  intrusion  which 
crushes  opposition.  It  glides  by  noiseless  and  inoffensive,  but 
when  it  has  secured  an  entrance,  it  does  the  traitor's  work.  The 
feeblest  instruments  will  suffice  for  it.  It  can  use  such  objects  as 
we  see  below,  and  make  them  more  effective  than  battle-ax.i,  or 
drawn  sword.  The  ornamented  fools-cap,  the  ostrich  feathers,  tlin 
bosom  ornament — each  may  hire  the  heeui  astray,  and  make  it  the 
slave  of  vanity. 

Nothing  there,  which  addresses  itself  to  the  soul  through  tbe 
eye,  is  to  bo  despised  as  nniniportant.  The  gazing  upon  vanity 
may  work  a  debasing  transformation.  The  images  of  sin  become 
familiar,  and  indulgence  in  sin  loses  somewhat  of  its  repulsiveness. 
Even  Pope  could  say,  in  words  that  warn, 

"  Vice  is  a  monster  of  Bach  frightfnl  mein, 
That  to  ho  hated,  needs  but  to  he  f  cen ; 
But  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  her  face, 
We  first  endure,  then  pity,  tlien  embrace." 


I™! 


A  LIFE    STUDY 


Lf 


The  soul  itself  is  largely — even  while  unconsciously — educated 
througli  tlio  eye.  Upon  the  character  tlie  outward  object  photo- 
graphs itself.  It  leaves  upon  it,  perhaps,  an  almost  imperceptible 
film.  But  repeated  again  and  again,  like  tlie  sand-grains  that  once 
yielded  to  ripples,  but  have  been  consolidated  to  rock— they  become 
the  substance  of  those  strata  of  life,  in  which  thought  and  affectic^n 
and  aspu-ation  and  endeavor  strike  their  deepest  roots.  Tlius 
through  the  eye— carelessly  wandering,  or  turn(;d  toward  forbiddcm 
objects— the  soul  is  debased,  the  moral  sense  is  perverted,  tempta- 
tion acquires  a  new  power,  and  the  soul,  off  its  guard,  admits  a 
traitor  into  its  citiuel. 


1 


t  ll  41 


"P 


^*' 


■,  St., 


II  wax  IIS  if  tjie  dead  could  feel 
Tltc  ic;/  worm  an.uul  litem  flcat, 
And  shudder  as  the.  reptiles  creep 
To  rex-el  o'er  their  lotting  sleep, 
Without  'he  power  to  smre  awai/ 
The  cold  I  onsumers  of  their  clay. 


THAT   OLD    SERPENT. 


SEEPENT  with  an  apple  in  his  jaws,  and  coiling  his  slimy 
folds  around  a  huiiiau  heart,  is  8eir-interj>retBd.  A  glanco 
at  the  background,  whore  the  luxuriant  foliage  of  an 
Edea  is  displayed  conlirnis  thn  impression  already  made.  We  see 
the  tempter  before  his  nature  had  become  known,  graceful  in  his 
every  movement,  and  displaying  on  his  mottled  skin  what  might 
attract,  rather  than  repel  the  inexperienced  eye,  while  he  seems 
generously  to  offer  the  beautiful  fruit,  which  he  holds  in  his  own 
mouth  to  the  acceptance  of  others.  His  very  attitude  speaks.  It 
s.^ems  to  say,  "Partake  along  with  mo."  Yet  see  his  entire  length, 
every  muscle  is  drawn  to  its  utmost  in  pressing  the  very  life  out  of 
that  heart.     He  is  kilUng  the  heart,  yet  offers  a  gift. 

Thus,  the  hospitality  of  the  serpent  is  a  delusion.  "While  he 
speaks,  he  is  coihng  himself  more  closely  around  a  hmnan  heart. 
He  is  making  himself  more  sure  of  hia  victim.     He  has  intruded 


n 


' 


fid 


A  LIPE    STVLY. 


JiH! 


into  the  sphoro  of  poocoful  innocence.  Nature  blooms  all  around 
him.  Ho  repose.s  amid  the  grass  and  flowers  of  a  Paradise,  tut 
ho  is  tliuro  as  a  traitor,  and  a  human  heart,  above  all  things  else,  is 
his  chosen  victim. 

It  is  ever  thus  with  many  forms  of  evil.  Tliey  glide  stealthily 
along,  gracefully  and  noiselessly  as  the  serpent.  They  steal  upon 
us  in  the  hour  of  unsuspecting  repose.  Tlioy  come  when  nature  is 
wreathed  with  flowers,  or  fragrant  with  perfume.  They  ofibr  a 
tempting  bait  with  large  promise.  They  whisper  of  life  when  they 
moan  only  death.  They  present  us  ^vith  what  seems  an  apple,  but 
is  only  a  scorfjion's  egg. 

How  many  thousands  have  thus  fallen  victims  to  their  own 
over-fond  confidence!  Tho  Avliispered  voice  of  warning — "you  eat 
to  die" — has  been  unregarded.  The  false  counsellor  has  been  be- 
Uevcd,  while  tho  true  one  has  been  unheeded.  Tho  soul  has 
trusted  to  show  and  pretence.  It  has  been  destroyed  before  it  was 
awaro.  Cheated  by  plausildlities,  it  has  lost  all — it  has  lost  itself. 
Turning  again  to  the  picture  we  s(ie  it  fringed  with  a  border 
rich  in  emblems.  There  is  no  Eden  visible  now.  Its  only  remain- 
ing memorials  are  tho  quick  Avithering  loaves  that  wreathe  about 
the  memorials  of  sin  and  death.  Above,  we  see  a  globe  that  like  a 
seed  of  death  sends  forth,  with  withering  leaf  and  transient  butter- 
fly, the  worm  (serpent)  that  dieth  not,  with  its  skeleton  head.  On 
tho  right,  a  barbed  arrow  is  the  fishing  rod  from  wliich  depends, 
with  its  skeleton  float,  the  lino  that  carries  tho  deadly  hook  wath 
serpent  (worm)  bait  to  the  innocent  tenants  of  tho  waters.  To  the 
left,  a  solvent  is  seen  coiling  around  tho  tree  that  supports  the 
globe,  and  hiding  his  head  in  tho  foliago  which  half  shrouds  it. 
Beneath,  tho  grand  circle  of  human  experience,  encompasses  flesh- 
less  human  bones  and  skull,  while  winged  dragons,  witli  arrowy 
tongues,  prowl  above  it,  watching  the  opportunity  to  break  in  and 
sate  their  vampire  appetite. 


mi . 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


G"* 


:i':  i 


All  this  ig  deeply  significant  of  tlio  necossaiy  results  of  the 
tempter's  success.     In  coiling  around  one  human  heart,  he  coiled 
lumself  around  the  world.     Hence  the  Latin  motto-7W,«  nnmdu. 
,n   maL,no-,mU  lii,no-.posltas  est     "The   whole   world   has   boon 
placed  in  the  wicked  one,"  or-with  the  play  upon  the  word,  which 
the  change  of  a  single  letter  allows-" upon  the   tree  of  evil."* 
This  is  what  has  come  of  his  Eden  triumph.     The  lust  of  the  eye 
and  of  the  appetite  has  issued  in  death.     A  whole  race  feel  the 
effects.     There  is  a  serpent  amid  the  flowers.     There  is  a  seq)ent's 
guile  in  the  fisher's  hook.     But  death  is  evoiy^vhore.     All  forms 
tliat  we  behold  in  living  nature  are  wasting  to  skeletons.     The 
flowers  that  cari,et  our  path  as  we  walk  tlio  green  earth,  are  root<'d 
in  graves.     On  every  side  we  are  taught,  "There  is  a  way  that 
seemetli  right  to  a  man,  but  the  ends  thereof  are  the  ways  of 
death."     Well  for  the  race,  had  this  moral  of  Eden  been  m<.re 
diligently  studied. 

'Mali  also  means  of  the  apple. 


ii'i 
li 


! 


Ft 


m 


■p. 


If  5 

'''  ; 


a^'i^i^^. 


Thf  chfek  may  br  titigfU  wilU  a  warm,  sunny  smiU,  (  ^J  I 

Tho'  the.  cold  heart  to  ruin  runs  darkly  the.  while.  J  f 


THEHE  U^A  ^VAYTHATaKEMETH  niOHT  ITNTO  A  „AN   Urr~  '^UF 
F-NDTHEHEOPla  g^EATH.--Pr.^„, 

ONomne  quod  hie  micat,  aurum  e.sf,   "Not  all  wl.i.h  flitters 
here  U  gold."     This  picturo   illustrato8   thut    truth.     A 
youth  trickocl  out  iu  finery,  v-ith  crosses  for  ornauieuts  on 
his  dress,  with  httle  worlds  f.-r  eamn.^..,  a  world  depondin-.  fro,n 
his  bosom,  and  a  world  fa.stoninj,.  his  girdle,  is  making  an  "xhihi- 
tion  of  what  ho  prizes  and  esteems.     In  ono  hand  ho  holds  a  pinch- 
beck watch,  and  in  the  other  a  rattle.     Gay  flower.s-ponpios  which 
indicate  the  stupefying  effect  of  worldly  influenccs-aro  bloomin^r 
before   him,  while  a  rook,   ludicrously  tricked  out   with  ostrich 
feathers,  is  strutting  forth  to  parade  them,  by  his  sid., ;  and  iu  the 
background,  the  mean  cottage  from  which  ho  liimself  si.rnng. 

The  bordering  of  the  picture  is  hung  all  around  with  mock 
jewels.  Above,  a  richly-ornamented  crown,  surmounted  by  a 
globe,  lias  wings  attached  to  it,  to  show  how  easily  it  may  s(,ar 
away  from  tho  grasp  of  ambition.  Above  it,  attached  to  it,  and  to 
another,  by  a  cord,    are  winged  worids  and  ornaments,  ready 


ono 


ro 


■  :fe  study. 


also  to  fiy  iiloft  and  boar  it  away.  Ou  tho  right  is  an  overcrowdod 
l)urK)»,  rent  by  tho  wciglit  of  its  coutonts,  which  aro  falUng  out  and 
loosisly  h('attt>ring  thj'uiaolvos  ovor  a  rich  bo(juot  of  withering 
flowers.  Below  thc'so  aro  c-ards — among  them,  tho  jack  of  dia- 
inondH,  ttvcrlyiiig  tlio  aco  of  licarts,  tho  heart  upon  which  is  pierced 
through  witli  an  arrow,  indicating  tho  retribution  of  tho  gambler's 
vice. 

On  tho  loft,  wo  800  a  (!a.sk,  spilhng  its  treasures  from  tho  open 
bung,  a  symbol  of  worldly  actjuisitions  wasting  away,  and  spilling 
themselves  beyond  tho  liopo  of  a  recovery.  Below  this  is  a  coin  on 
which  tho  falso  world  has  stampcMl  a  Ciosar's  iumge,  and  tho  super- 
Bcriptiou  which  Bignifios,  "  Mammon,  tho  lord  of  tho  world." 
Beneath,  a  human  head,  with  littlo  worlds  of  its  idolatry  clinging  to 
it,  holds  attadied  to  it  by  its  own  magnetism  a  jewelUnl  and  orna- 
montod  globe,  whilo  tho  inscription  which  rebukc;s  its  fond  imagin- 
ings, is  i)assed  through  a  ring  that  supports  it,  and  presents  us  with 
the  motto  that  rebukes  its  folly. 

It  is  thus  that  ornament  and  splendor,  toys  and  fmory,  capti- 
vate tho  heart,  and  oveu  wliilo  tho  cards  aro  shufned,  it  is  pierced 
by  tho  arrow  of  falso  pleasure.  Tho  soul  is  nuide  tho  victim  of  de- 
ceitful shows  and  pageants.  It  is  taken  by  glitter.  It  breathes 
the  odor  of  poppies.  It  is  kept  in  countenance  by  pcacock-foather 
display,  and  tawdry  ornamentation.  It  is  entertained  by  the  music 
of  its  own  rattle.  It  sees  Ca)sar's  face  on  tho  world's  coin,  and  does 
not  discern  that  it  is  mammon's  counterfeit.  It  may  look  upward, 
but  tho  riches  and  splendor  of  tho  crown  hide  from  view  tho  wings 
that  would  convey  it  away. 

But  the  almost  empty  cask,  tho  ruptured  jmrso,  and  tho 
arrow-piorcod  heart,  teach  another  lesson.  Tho  tinsel  of  life  will 
wear  off.  The  pageantry  and  splendor  are  a  hollow  show.  The 
world  is 

"  A  paintcJ  cask,  but  nothing  in't, 
Nor  wealth,  nor  plfUBUro." 


A  l:p'J3  study 


01 


All  that  it  coTitainH,  Rpills  nn<l  wastos  itrtoU",  and  cannot  bo 
gathorod  up.     Tho  soul  thut  ha«  boon 

"Pica  oil  wllhii rati lo,  tlikkU  witli  a  «  mw," 

comos  ero  long  to  loathe  its  worthloss  toys,  and  to  w-orn  thoir  hol- 
low mockery.  Its  treasure's  aro  coutainod  iu  a  moth-raten  jturso, 
wliich  bursts  by  th.^ir  w.'ight,  wliilo  tlu)  hoart  itself  is  pionrd  by 
the  arrow  of  disappointed  hope. 

Such  is  tho  stfjry  of  luunan  exporionco,  a  thousand  times  ^*. 
poatod,  till  it  becomes  trito  and  familiar,  yet  men  refuse  to  believe 
it.     Tho  experiment,  ever  to  issue  in  tho  same  result,  must  bo  trit'd 
over  and  over.     A  path  strewn  with  wreck  and  ruin,  and  without 
expectations,  must  still  be  trodden  anew.     The  well-worn  adage, 
"  It  is  not  all  gold  that  glitters,"  loaves  little  hupressiem  after  the 
sound  of  it  has  died  away  iipon  the  ear.     Men  aro  still  taken  by 
show  and  pageant.     They  are  held  captives  to  sense,  and  show 
themselves  indisposed  to,  if  not  incapable  of,  spiritual  discernment. 
Only  when  it  is  too  late,  when  their  hands  gi-asp  a  crushed  butter- 
fly, when  the  music  of  their  rattie  has  ceased  to  charm,  or  riches 
have  taken  to  themselves  wings  and  flown  away,   do  they  uwake 
irom  their  delusiou,  and  bemoan  their  folly. 


M 


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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


|4j 

■10 


S   Ui    12.0 


IL25  1 1.4 


16 


1.6 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  873-4503 


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My  lotiging  snul  would  tread  tlii"  path 
Thai's  via  rl:rd  by  wisdirm' s  ray  : 

Jfthna  wiltr/itidc,  to pnaie from  wrath 
I'll  mount ;  from  night  to  day. 


-71  Pi7i^i  K= 


1^ 


■  THOU  SHALT  GUIDE  ME  WITH  THY  COUNSEL,  AND  AFTERV/ARD 
RECEIVE  ME  TO  GLORY  '—Da.'jid. 

ITHIN  a  circle  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  butterflies  facing 
it  every  where,  and  showing  that  it  is  intended  as  the 
sphere  to  which  the  hope  of  immortal  life   belongs,   or 
where  questions  pertaining  to  it  are  directed,  we  see  a  pilgrim-statf 
in  hand,  and  on  his  broad-rimmed,  slouched  hat,  the  cockle-shells, 
symbolic  of  pilgrim  purpose.     He  is  just  past  the  point  where  Uvu 
roads  diverge.     He  has  chosen  the  right,  and  is  plodding  on  his 
way,   though   almost  tremblingly,    and   with   self-distrust.     It  is 
right,  and  though  the  stars  are  shining  over  him,  he  feels  the 
need  of  a  sun,  and  seems  to  be  looking  around  him  on  his  narrow 
desert  way.     He  appears,  also,  to  feel  his  hmeUness,  and  we  ran 
imagine  him  silently  praying  for  divine   light  and  guidance.     His 
heart  whispers, 

"  While  I  am  a  pilgrlru  here, 
Let  tliy  love  my  spirit  cheer ; 
Bi  my  guide,  my  guard,  my  friend- 
Lead  me  to  my  journoy's  ci;d.  ' 


4 


■f 

1] 


i 


Pi 


A    LIFP^    STUDY. 


All  around  him  is  dreary  and  forbidding,  and  he  can  only 
walk  by  faith  in  the  unseen.  Without  a  flower  blooming  in  view, 
or  a  fountain  sparkling  along  his  way,  he  can  only  say. 


"  Long  nights  and  darkness  dwell  below, 
With  scarce  a  twinkling  ray ; 
But  the  bright  world  to  which  we  go, 
Is  I'vcrlasting  day. 

''Our  journey  is  a  cheerless  maze, 
But  wo  march  onward  still ; 
Forget  those  troubles  of  the  ways, 
And  reach  at  Zlon's  hill." 

He  feels  the  need  of  walking  "  by  faith  and  by  sight,"  since 

"  'Tis  by  .he  faith  of  joys  to  come. 
We  walk  through  deserts'  darkcrnlght." 

Above  the  picture,  we  are  reminded  of  the  pilgrim's  hazards. 
There  is  a  compass — perhaps  its  straight  and  its  waving  points  in- 
tended to  show  with  what  different  eyes  it  may  be  read,  while  on 
one  side  we  see  dies,  oi  *'  day,"  with  its  bright,  sun-lit  clouds,  and 
on  the  other  nox,  or  "night,"  with  its  lurid  flames,  plainly  in- 
timating the  diverse  destinies  which  await  those  who  pursue  the 
different  paths  that  are  marked  out  below.    - 

From  one  destiny  or  the  other,  no  one  can  be  exempt.  For 
we  see  beneath,  the  pilgrim's  hat,  with  the  symbolic  cockle-shell, 
and  the  rude  pilgrim's  staff,  with  the  wallet  attached,  intimating 
that  these  offer  themselves  to  us,  and  wait  for  us  to  take  them  up. 

Onward,  even,  on  the  one  road  or  the  other — all  are  moving. 
Every  day  and  every  hour  bear  us  along.  We  are  nearing  the 
one  goal  or  the  other,  invisible  to  the  outward  eye,  and  only  to  be 
discerned  by  the  eye  of  thought  or  faith.  Our  business  is  to  choose 
the  right  path,  to  lay  aside  every  needless  weight,  and  to  press  on, 
in  the  faith  of  our  invisible  leader  to  the  unseen  goal.  We  may 
not  linger  on  our  way,  neither  may  we  be  too  confident,  leaning  to 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


OS 


our  own  understanding.  With  the  stars  over  our  heads,  we  must 
have  God's  pv.^iight  in  our  hearts.  The  hand  may  grasp  its  own 
support,  but  the  soul,  from  its  own  experience,  should  be  able  to 
say,  "Though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death, 
I  will  fear  no  evil,  for  thou  art  with  me ;  thy  rod  and  thy  staff, 
they  comfort  me." 


li» 
'i;fi 

P 
53 


m 


Upon  tiff's  sra  the  ressrl  plides. 
To  drift  un  rorkt,  br  whi-lmed  hi/  liili:i  : 
it's  nnbj  hopf  is  in  I/is  aid, 
Whost  "  react  "  the  timpeslsonce  obeyed. 


«- 


"BLESSE<D  ARE  THEY  THAT  QO  H.S  C0.\L\IA:7DMENTS  "-John. 


M 


i  conflicting  elements  of  our  being  have  been  a  theme 
for  prophets  and  evangelists,  for  poets  and  philos(.iphers, 
and  the  experience  of  each  human  soul  reflects  wliat  they 
have  said.  In  the  seventh  chapter  of  the  epistle  to  the  Romans, 
Paul  has  photographed  these  inward  antagonisms,  and  one,  as  un- 
like him  as  even  the  author  of  the  essay  on  man,  has  reflected  from 
his  pages  much  of  the  same  truth. 

"  Placed  on  this  isthmus  of  a  middle  state ; 
A  being  darkly  wise  and  rudely  great. 
With  too  much  knowledge  for  the  sceptic'^  side, 
With  too  much  weakness  for  the  stoic's  pride ; 
He  hangs  between ;  in  doubt  to  actor  rest, 
In  doubt  to  deem  hime elf  a  man  or  beast, 
In  doubt  his  mind  or  Ijody  to  prefer ; 
Born  but  to  die,  and  niaaoning  i  ni  to  err." 


J 
\    1 


oa 


Jl    LIFE    STUDY. 


In  the  picture,  we  see  him  standing  between  the  tables  of  the 
law  engraved  on  the  heart,  and  a  world  where  the  stem  of  a  plant 
with  two  branching  leaves,  supplants  the  crop  and  usurps  its  place. 
One  hand  is  i  n  this  ^v^the^ing  symbol  of  worldly  inr-ufficiency,  or 
profane  travesty,  and  the  other  on  the  law-written  heart.  WTiich 
shall  be  given  the  preference?  He  knows  which  is  to  be  pre- 
ferred, and  which  he  is  bound  to  accept,  but  he  hesitates;  he 
wavers.  Sometimes  he  inchnes  to  the  world  which  sustains  the 
flower-plant,  yet  for  a  little  while  unwithered,  and  again  the  spell 
of  the  law's  divine  authority  over  the  conscience  perplexes  him. 

We  may  see  above  how  the  very  arrows  that  are  aimed  at  the 
law  recoil  from  it  and  pierce  the  heart.  If  one  for  the  ease  and 
peace  of  guilty  security  would  aim  his  sophistical  or  malicious  ob- 
jections at  that  which  is  "holy,  just,  and  good,"  his  arrows  recoil, 
bent  or  broken  perhaps,  upon  his  own  heart.  He  stands  self- 
condemned,  self-convicted,  self-pierced  for  what  he  has  done. 
His  guilt,  in  attempting  to  set  aside  this  or  that  commandment,  or 
the  whole  decalogue,  is  a  new  shaft  lodged  in  his  bleeding  con- 
science. 

Thus  he  cannot  triumph  in  this  direction,  while  he  dare  not 
yield  to  the  world  in  the  other.  He  is  like  the  ship  that  we  see 
below — a  solid  world  with  the  cross,  or  a  crucified  world,  drawing 
him  to  the  right,  while  the  wicker  world,  with  the  star  of  its  God 
Eemphan,  draws  it  to  the  left  To  the  latter  also  it  is  fiercely  im- 
pelled by  all  the  winds  of  passion  that  fill  its  sails.  So  strongly  do 
they  press,  that  the  soul,  left  to  their  drifting  power  would  soon 
break  loose  from  all  sympathy  with  the  cross,  and  be  carried  over 
completely  to  worldliness. 

It  is  the  truth  thus  symbolized  which  is  full  of  warning  to  the 
soul.  The  tradewinds  that  sweep  the  sea  of  life  are  all  against 
him  who  is  steering  his  bark  away  from  the  realms  of  mammon, 
and  sensual  indulgence.    This  should  put  him  on  his  guard. 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


W 


Well  may  he   say,  looking  upon  this  mirror  of   his  own    expe- 
rience : — 

"  Thus  aro  my  weather-beaten  thoughts  oppressed 
With  the  earth-bred  winds  of  ray  prodigious  will ; 
Thus  am  I  hourly  tost  from  citst  to  woit, 
Upontht!  rolllnt;  streams  of  good  iind  ill. 
Thus  am  I  driven  upon  the  slippery  suds 
From  real  ills  to  false  apparent  goods, 
My  life's  a  troubled  sea  composed  of  ebbs  and  floods." 

Thus  is  it  with  one  whose  head  is  crowned  with  the  halo  that 
betokens  his  heavenly  birthright,  and  whose  whole  being  and 
sphere  of  action  are  encircled  by  the  emblems  of  the  life  im- 
mortal. 


J.V    THY  ZrOHT   an  ALL    WF,    SFE   LIGHT. 

NE  of  the  most  important  leasong  for  tho  soul  to  learn  is 
that  of  its  weakness.  lUit  oftentimes,  as  in  the  case  of 
the  little  child,  it  can  be  learned  only  })y  experience. 
There  must  bo  effort  and  stumbling,  toil  and  failure,  before  one 
can  ascertain  the  limits  of  his  capacity,  or  be  brought  to  see  the 
necessity  of  a  strong  hand,  or  a  firmi^r  inspiring  will. 

In  this  picture,  we  have  the  emblem  of  a  soul  endeavoring  to 
light  its  way  by  its  own  intention,  a  blearing  torch  that  only  makes 
the  darkness  visible,  and  shows  by  contrast  tho  need  of  the  sun. 
The  soul  pauses.  It  dares  not  venture  to  proceed.  It  stands 
irresolute  and  doubtful,  learning  meanwhile  to  distrust  itself  and 
its  own  torch. 

That  torch  is  not  only  reason,  but  the  natural  powers  of  the 
soul,  including  sagacity  and  will.  If  it  has  only  these  to  rely 
upon  to  guide  it,  or  to  light  up  its  way,  it  can  only  plunge  onward 
to  deeper  darkness,  where  the  torch  that  already  flares  might  be 
wholly  put  out.  Conscious  of  this,  the  inarticulate  prayer  of  the 
soul  must  be— looking  up  to  the  great  fountain  of  eternal  light— 
"  Lord,  lift  thou  up  the  light  of  thy  countenance  upon  me." 


ICS 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


The  insufficiency  of  natural  power  without  tho  indwelling  and 
inworking  of  divine  grace,  ia  aeon  above  in  the  attempt  of  a 
butterfly,  representing  the  immortal  spirit,  to  draw  the  wheels  that 
bear  nothing  more  than  a  rose-branch.  The  very  highest  and 
most  fragrant  of  all  the  duties  which  the  soul  is  called  upon  to  do, 
is  too  much  for  it  without  that  divine  efficiency,  which  '*  worketb 
wthin  us  to  will  and  to  do."  This  ia  still  further  illustrated  by 
what  we  see  beneath.  Here  is  tlie  dial-face  of  a  clock,  formed  of 
the  wings  of  a  butterfly.  These  wings  may  flutter  awhile,  but  ere 
long  they  must  rest  The  continuous  movement  of  duty  ia 
impossible  without  a  very  different  impulse  from  that  which 
spreads  the  gaudy  wings.  Beneath  the  dial-plate  there  must  be 
not  only  a  human  life,  but  there  must  be  also  a  divine  mechanism, 
and  this  mechanism  must  be  wound  up  and  sustained  by  the  key 
of  a  constant  diviro  energ>. 

Such,  ia  the  truth  inwrought  in  the  deepest  experience  of  tlie 
renewed  soul.  It  learns  to  distrust  itself.  It  is  forced  to  confess 
its  own  weakness  and  insufficiency.  It  is  like  Pilgrim  working  his 
way  through  tho  Slough  of  Despond,  or  climbing  the  Hill  Diffi- 
culty, or  called  to  inv)et  Apollyon.  It  is  sometimes  scarcely  able  to 
stand  alone.  It  is  troubled  by  its  own  doubts,  or  unmanned  by  its 
own  fears.  It  looks  to  its  natural  resources,  or  leans  upon  them, 
in  vain.     They  are  a  broken  staflP  in  its  hands,  from  which  it  turns 

away  to  God,  exclaiming  in  the  low:iaess,  and  yet  the  strength  of 
faith,  "Thy  rod  and  thy  staff,  they  coinfort  me." 

Here  indeed  ia  the  soul's  help — its  all-sufficient  help.  With 
ita  eye  on  heaven,  it  walks  in  the  light  of  God.  It  is  drawn 
onward  to  every  duty,  and  sustained  in  it  by  a  divine  energy.  It 
is  no  longer  intermittent  in  effort.  With  its  eye  on  the  prize,  it 
presses  onward  to  the  work.  Feeble  as  it  is  in  itself,  it  is  strong 
while  it  pours  forth  the  petition, 

"  While  Jlfe'B  dark  maze  I  tread, 

And  griefs  around  me  upread, 

Bo  tliou  my  guide." 


/     ZJITE    STUDY.  j^^, 

Or  at  another  rrics  out, 

"  May  thy  rich  (m»co  Impnrt 
HtronKth  to  my  f»lntln^  heart. 
My  zeul  limplru." 

Thus  (loos  tho  (larlcnosa  vanish  in  tho  dawning  light  of  God's 
smile,  and,  in  tlio  conscious  wouknoss  of  tho  soul,  God's  strength  is 
mado  perfect  in  its  woakncss.  It  has  boon  taught  to  look  away 
from  itself  to  a  great  and  almighty  helper,  and  it  has  found  in  hin. 
a  supply  for  its  many  wants,  and  a  strengtU  for  its  every  weak- 
uoss. 


ml 

'is^l 

1 
1 

The  lapse  of  time  and  riversare  the  same— 
Doth  speed  their  jmininj  with  a  restless  stream  : 
The  silent  pare  with  which  they  steal  away, 
yo  wealth  can  bribe,  nor  prayers  persuade  to  stay. 


CUT  :.1E   NOT   Om'T'  Ii:   THE   MlQST   OF  UY   Q)AYS. 

E  have  here  a  picture  of  hunmn  life,  and  its  uncertain 
tenure.  A  suppliant,  kneeling  in  prayer,  on  a  stool  sup. 
ported  by  what  synibohzes  the  tweuty-four  hours  of  the 
day,  holds,  balanced  upon  his  head,  a  cross-surmounted  dial,  on 
which  the  hours  of  his  life's  day  are  registered.  The  skeleton  hand 
of  death  is  stretched  out  to  grasp  the  dial  and  take  it  away,  forbid- 
ding any  further  registry,  or  writing  a  mme,  menr,  where  other  reg- 
istry should  be.  The  suppliant  bogs  for  more  time.  He  pleads 
that  on  that  dial  as  yet  the  registry  is  only  from  iv  to  viir,  and 
begs  that  ho  may  be  spared  to  make  out  his  brief  day.  He 
seems  to  say,  "  cut  me  not  off  in  the  midst  of  my  years." 

We  may  gather  from  the  emblem  above  what  his  feehngs  are. 
There  is  a  clock,  which  the  cross-surmounted  world  shows  to  be 
the  clock  which  indici.tes  the  feelings  of  our  common  lunnanity. 
The  houi'-hand  is  still  near  twelve,  and  the  nunute-hand  is  but  just 
at  one,  while  the  pendulum,  with  a  human  heart  for  its  weight,  in- 
aic;.te3  that  the  clock  is  the  clock  to  which  the  soul  of  the  suppUant, 
with  its  aspirations  and  its  fears,  its  hopes  and  its  memories,  keeps 


•    i 


yes 


4     LIFE    STUDY 


time.    Evidently,  it  feels  that  it  has  just  begun  to  live.     The  first 
hour  of  its  allotted  time  consciously  has  not  passed. 

Beneath,  we  see  a  winged  hour-glass,  which  explains  the  mys- 
tery. This  denotes  the  rapid  flight  of  time.  Where  nature,  with 
her  clock-work  of  revolving  worlds  and  suns,  strikes  hours,  the 
spirit's  consciousness  only  registers  minutes.  Time  flies  too  rapidly 
to  be  realized.  While  it  seems  yet  to  be  here,  it  is  gone,  and  out 
of  sight, 

"  We  take  no  note  cf  f.iiae,  but  by  its  Iosb." 

One  measure  of  time  needs  to  be  continually  re-adjusted,  and 
we  can  only  re-adjust  it  by  noting  its  loss.  Tb  new  year  comes 
upon  us,  as  if  only  a  month  had  fled. 

No  wonder  the  soul,  surprised,  almost  before  it  had  begun  to 
live,  is  a  suppliant  for  years  to  come.  At  first,  it  chided  the  linger- 
ing of  the  tardy  months  and  days.  But,  ere  long,  it  finds  that 
consciousness  could  not  keep  pace  with  them  and  now  it  needs 
time  to  correct  the  errors  of  time  abused, 


"  When  first  our  infant  yearj*  lire  told, 
It  seems  lilie  pastime  to  grow  old ; 
But  as  we  count  tlic  ebining  links 

That  time  around  ua  weaves  so  fast, 
How  very  little  do  we  think, 

How  tight  the  chuin  will  press  at  last."  * 

The  skeleton  hand  often  comes  before  the  dial-plate  is  half- 
encircled  by  the  registered  hours.  But  no  supplication  can  aiTest 
it.  It  comes  not  unbidden.  If  life's  work  is  not  done  then,  it 
never  can  be  done.  If  the  clock  of  human  feehng  indicates  only 
noinutes  instead  of  hours,  or  days  instead  of  years,  it  is  in  part  be- 
cause the  heart-weight  of  the  pendulum  has  been  hung  too  low. 
It  needs  to  be  adjusted  anew,  and  a  prayer  wiser  than  that  of  the 
suppliant  in  the  emblem,  is  that  of  the  Psalmist,  who,  thousands 
of  years  ago,  exclaimed,  "  So  teach  us  to  number  our  days,  that  we 
may  apply  our  hearts  unto  wisdom." 


,1 


■  ■  THEI^E  BE  MANY  THAT  SAY.     WHO  WILL  SHOW  US  ANY  GOO(D  ' 
iOfl®,  LIFT  THOU  UP  THE  LIGHT  OP  THY COUNTENANCF. 
■UPON  US.  •■-'David. 

ATUEE  has  its  stars,  but  Revelation  its  sun.  One  is 
identified  with  our  fears  and  apprehensions ;  the  other 
with  our  hopes.  Here  M^e  see  the  trembling  spirit,  in  the 
night-time  of  i+s  experience.  Its  path  has  led  it  to  a  stream  which 
it  must  cross,  and  already  it  stands  shivering  and  afirighted  in  the 
cold  waters.  The  bow  has  already  fallen  from  its  hands.  The 
darkness  is  all  around  it,  and  only  the  beams  of  a  taper,  inserted 
in  a  fools-cap  instead  of  a  lantern,  and  elevated  upon  a  pole,  serve 
to  enlighten  its  way.  Around  the  pole  is  a  chain,  with  little 
trinkets  attached,  the  childish  ornament  which  folly  binds  as  orna- 
ment around  the  support  of  all  its  hopes. 

Above,  we  see  a  lighted  candle,  with  a  moth  fluttering  near  it, 
and  in  danger  of  being  consumed  in  its  blaze.  The  candle,  with 
its  feeble  beams,  is  but  the  light  of  human  reason,  just  bright 
enough  to  be  an  attraction  to  fluttering  fools,  but  too  dim  to  create 
a  day.    Unlike  the  sun  of  revelation,  which  enlightens  the  world. 


110 


4    LIFE    STUDY. 


I  I 


and  from  which  no  danger  is  to  be  feared,  even  for  the  most  deli- 
cate wing,  it  exists  rather  to  make  darkness  visible,  and  to  expose 
the  folly  of  those  who  make  it  their  trust. 

Beneath,  wo  see  a  plant  with  its  luxuriant  leaves,  striking 
down  its  massive  root,  and  clasping,  showing  us  how  the  soul  in 
darkness  will  lay  hold  of  whatever  comes  in  its  way,  and  wrap 
itself  around  the  feeblest  support,  if  it  can  find  no  other. 

What  the  soul  of  man  needs  most  is  the  light  of  a  divine 
presence.  In  this  picture,  we  discern  the  troubled  and  fearful 
look  with  which  it  contemplates  its  own  condition.  Standing  shiv- 
ering in  the  chill  waters,  it  knows  not  which  way  to  turn.  It 
justly  scorns  the  taper  light  which  fools  admire,  turns  away  its 
face  from  it,  and  seems  unconsciously  to  be  crying  out  after  God. 
We  feel  that  we  can  almost  gather  the  burden  of  its  fears  and 
hopes,  and  seem  to  hear  its  .words,  indistinctly  uttered  : 

"  Is  tho  dream  of  nature  flown  1 
Is  the  universe  destroyed? 
Man  extinct,  and  I  alone. 
Breathing  through  the  formlesB  void  t 

"  No;  my  soul,  in  God  rejoice ; 

Through  the  gloom  His  light  I  see ; 
In  the  silence  hear  his  voice, 
And  his  hand  is  over  me." 

The  soul,  as  here  symbolized,  is  at  least  on  the  eve  of  such 
experience.  Cast  down  by  its  own  anxieties  and  fears,  it  is  assured 
of  the  compassion  and  help  of  One  who  is  mighty  to  save.  His 
presence,  to  the  eye  of  faith,  will  chaoe  away  the  shadows  of  the 
night,  and  introduce  the  dawn  of  an  eternal  day. 

It  L?  upon  His  help  that  the  soul  must  rely.  Without  this,  it 
can  onl}-  press  on,  to  sink  in  the  deep  waters.  No  light  of  genius, 
or  of  vain  mirth,  can  cheer  or  guide  it.  Untiided  reason,  when  it 
attempts  the  task,  is  only  like  a  taper,  with  a  fools-cap  for  its 
lantern.     It  mocks  a  hope  that  reaches  forth  toward  immortality. 


.-I  l:fs  ctudy 


111 


It  deludes  that  instinctive  aspiration  of  the  sin-huniblod,  self- 
revealed  Bpirit,  that  asks  after  the  clear  liglit  of  truth,  and  the 
eternal  word  on  which  it  may  repose.  Earthly  natures  may 
cleave  to  earth,  may  twine  the  roots  of  their  passions  about  porisli- 
ing  tilings  that  can  funiish  it  no  nutrinuMit,  and  but  a  fooblo  sup- 
port; but  the  soul  that  has  been  taught  by  the  spirit,  can  never  bo 
satisfied  till  it  can  rest  on  the  rock  of  ages,  and  feel  assured  that 
God  himself  will  be  at  once  its  eternal  refuge  and  unchanging 
light. 


i 


Joy  is  vain  vuihout  thy  breath, 
Kindling  li/i:  when  all  was  death. 


hUT  AG  IT  IS  V/RITTEIJ.    EYE   HATII   NOT  fJEEIl.    NOR    EAR    HEARD, 
NEITHEI^  HA  VE  ENTEHE<D  IHTO  THE  HEART  OP  MAN,   THE 
THINGS  V/HICH  003)  HATH  FRFPARE<D  FO<Sl  THEM 
THA  T  L  0  VE  JlH.f.  '  '-Fa  u ;. 


E  have  lieie   a  picture  to   reniiiul  us  of  tlie  Scriptural 


phrase,  "  The  hist  of  the  flesh,  the  hist  of  the  eye,  and 
the  pride  of  life."  Human  folly,  by  its  pageantry  and 
display,  makes  itself  ridiculous  without  knowing  it.  It  struts,  and 
boasts,  and  plays  "fantastic  tricks  before  high  heaven,"  for  which 
the  Christians  pity  it,  and  satirists  hold  it  up  to  ridicule. 

Multitudes  of  men  have  each  their  hobby,  as  varied  as  tlieir 
tastes.  But  the  consummation  of  all  is  to  make  the  world  itself  a 
hobby,  and  to  ride  it  with  the  ostentation  and  zeal  of  a  mad 
charioteer.  Here  we  see  carnal  pleasure  tricked  out  in  a  garb 
congruous  to  his  nature,  holding  in  his  hands  reins  attached  to  an 
ass's  head,  which  replaces  the  top  of  a  mutilated  cross ;  while,  also, 
along  with  the  tight-drawn  reins,  ho  grasps  a  whip,  curiously 
wrought  for  the  sake  of  display.  The  handle  is  a  sceptre-like  rod, 
the  handle  of  which  is  exquisitely  wrought  or  jewelled,  while  a 


! 


i 


114 


A    LIFE    STUDV. 


globe  to  which  a  wind-mill  is  attached  surrounds  it,  nnd  affords 
a  support  to  a  long,  broad  streamer,  that  serves  as  a  lash. 

The  fool's  playthings,  masks,  cards,  crosses,  coin  and  jewels, 
are  loosely  nnd  negligently  scattered  around  him,  while  his  now 
hobby  absorbs  all  his  enthusiasm.  At  his  side,  a  basket  which 
holds  liis  two  bags  of  treasure  is  falling  off  from  the  world,  and 
unseen  by  him,  and,  apparently,  uncared  for;  one  bag  is  fast 
spilling  its  contents,  which  are  falling  scattered  to  the  ground.  In 
his  mad  course,  driving  his  world  as  if  it  were  a  beast  of  burden, 
he  little  heeds  what  other  wealth  or  treasure  he  loses  or  gains.  Of 
a  world  above,  or  a  world  beneath,  he  knows  nothing,  cares 
nothing.     The  world  he  is  astride  of  is  his  all. 

Turning  our  glance  above  we  are  taught  the  mistake.  There 
is  an  eye,  wreathed  about  with  thorns,  to  show  us  that  it  is  His  who 
wore  the  thorny  crown,  and  who  was  content  to  despise  and  con- 
temn all  the  honors  and  splendors  of  the  world.  Before  him 
archangels  veil  their  faces  with  their  wings,  while  they  are  seen 
bowing  with  lowliest  reverence,  Hef  that  had  not  where  to  lay  his 
head ;  who,  though  he  was  rich,  yet  for  our  sakes  became  poor, 
and  whose  earthly  career  seemed  one  continuous  rejection  and 
contempt  of  offered  crowns  a' id  thiones,  is  exalted  as  the  Lord  of 
all,  by  all  to  be  adored.  In  the  light  of  that  eye,  all  the  pompous 
folly  and  display  of  worldly  minds  are  seen  to  be  only  a  mad  and 
reckless  farce,  a  rocket-like  explosion  of  fantastic  and  abominable 
tricks,  that  can  end  only  in  disaster  and  shame. 

Below  we  observe  a  pierced  hand.  Through  this  hand  an 
extended  eye-glass  passes,  which  that  mutilated  organ  seems  to 
hold  up  and  offer  to  our  gaze.  Through  that  glass,  and  through 
that  pierced  hand,  we  may  behold  what  would  otherwise  be  in- 
visible, the  glory  of  a  better  world,  stars  like  the  Star  of  Bethle- 
hem, the  chief  among  ten  thousand  and  the  altogether  lovely.  All 
that  earth  exhibits  to  the  unregeuerate  eye  is  but  tinsel  to  what  is 
here  revealed. 


A  LIFE    STUDY. 


116 


Thus  tho  visible  and  invisible  are  brought  into  contact,  and 
the  stupidity  and  folly  of  carnal  pleasures,  enslaved  to  its  love  of 
pageantry,  is  displayed.  It  is  soon  to  be  shallow,  childish,  buoyed 
up  with  trifles. 

"So  millions  aro  smlt  with  tho  glare  of  a  toy, 
They  ijnisp  at  a  pebble,  and  ililnk  It  a  gora ; 
And  tlnsol  1h  gold  if  it  glitter  to  thira. 
HencG,  dazzled  with  beauty,  tho  lover  is  sralt ; 
Tho  hero  with  honor ;  tho  poct-with  wit ; 
The  fop  with  ills  feathers,  his  snufl-box  and  cane  j 
Tho  nymph  with  lier  novels ;  tho  morohnnt  with  gain." 

All  these  are  making  a  hobby  of  the  world.  They  are 
attempting  to  ride  it  to  a  goal  they  can  never  reach.  They  are 
suffering  themselves  to  be  deluded  by  appearances,  even  while  they 
are  making  themselves  a  show  for  others.  But  there  is  a  scrutin- 
izing, heart- searching  eye  above,  that  looks  down  on  the  world, 
through  a  wreath  of  thorns,  and  sees  things  in  that  light  in  which 
they  will  at  last  appear  to  the  soul,  cured  of  its  folly,  or  over- 
whelmed by  it. 


1, 


WE    OROPS    W   THE  (DAY-TmE 


jjHE  life  of  man  may  bo,  in  thousands  of  instances,  com- 
pared to  a  search  for  eonie  hidden,  perhaps  unknown, 
good.  Few  can  tell  what  it  is,  and  fewer  still  where  it  is 
to  be  found.  Nearly  all  seem  to  concede  that  it  poca  abroad  in 
something  of  a  Protean  disguise.  In  one  shape  it  seems  to  be 
recognized  by  one,  and  in  another,  by  another.  Past  experience  in 
this  matter  seems  to  bo  of  small  account.  Men  refuse  to  be  in- 
structed by  it.  One  failure  after  another,  in  the  same  circum- 
stances, seems  to  impress  no  lesson,  or  give  no  warning  that  is 
heeded  by  those  who  come  after.  If  men  have  groped  in  vain  in 
one  path ;  others,  perhaps,  with  full  knowledge  of  their  failure,  will 
grope  there  again. 

What  is  needed,  is  that  which  gives  the  soul  peace,  assurance 
of  security,  and  immortal  hope.  But  these  are  not  to  be  found  in 
earthly  possessions,  in  bags  of  wealth,  full-blown  houses,  troops  of 
friends,  lofty  towers,  or  **  pavilions  of  rocks."  The  sea  saith  they 
are  not  in  me,  and  the  depth,  they  are  not  in  me.    If  they  are  to 


228 


jS    LIFE    STUDY. 


be  pursued  by  human  skill,  or  sagacity,  on  earth,  they  will  demand 
a  long,  weary,  and  fruitless  search,  still  mocking  every  effort. 

Here  we  see  the  soul,  no  longer  standing,  as  elsewhere,  on  the 
edge  of  the  precipice,  but  making  its  way  through  the  dashing, 
rushing  llood,  that  threatens  to  sweep  it  away,  toward  some  object 
which  it  may  grasp  with  its  uplifted  hand,  as  a  security.  But  it  is 
very  doubtful  whether  it  will  reach  the  prop,  which  rises  like  the 
upright  part  of  the  cross,  from  the  midst  of  the  flood,  for  it  is  ap- 
parently turned  somewhat  aside  from  it,  and  is  in  danger,  if  it  fails, 
of  plunging  deeper  and  more  hopelessly  in  the  waves. 

Yet  what  is  wanted,  is  just  the  support  and  the  security  which 
the  cross  affords.  It  stands  planted  firm  and  strong  amid  the 
billows.  It  has  proved  the  soul's  strength  in  many  a  tempestuous 
hour — its  prop  when  every  earthly  prop  has  given  way.  But 
where  is  this  true  treasure  of  the  soul  to  be  found  ?  Not  on  Alpine 
summits.  Not  in  happy  valleys  of  "  Easselas."  It  may  have  fled 
from  courts,  and  yet  not  be  found  in  cottages.     Again,  we  ask, 

•'  Wlicre  thy  true  treasure  ?    Gold  cays, '  not  in  me.' 
And  '  not  In  me,'  the  diamond.    Gold  is  poor, 
India's  insolvent;  Bcelc  It  in  thyseif  I 
Seek  in  thy  valued  self,  and  find  it  there." 

But  a  search  within  the  soui  itself — so  long  as  it  remains  be- 
reft of  pardon,  peaco,  and  immortal  hope — could  only  disclose  its 
poverty  and  wretchedness.  Yet  one  thing  can  enrich  it,  and  that 
is  the  cross,  and  a  sanctified  affection  bestows  it  there.  Within 
each  renewed  heart,  grace  has  planted  the  cross,  and  there  the 
treasure  abides.  Wo  see  the  heart,  with  the  guard-chain  around 
it,  opening  itself,  as  on  hinges,  to  our  gaze,  and  within,  its  treasure, 
its  great  treasiire,  its  only  treasure,  is  the  cross. 

Let  the  soul  have  this,  and  it  is  secure  and  blessed.  This,  as 
we  see  below,  anchors  the  floating  island  of  its  hopes.  All  things 
else  may  be  as  the  ship,  spreading  all  its  canvas  to  meet  the  fierce 
buffetings  of  the  storm,  or  perhaps  to  be  stranded  on  a  strange 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


110 


shore,  or  buried  in  *he  deep  caverns  of  the  ocean.  But  the  cross 
will  never  disappoint  the  trust  of  the  soul.  It  never  has  disap- 
pointed it,  and  it  never  can. 

Deeper  meaning  has  never  been  compressed  into  human  lan- 
guage, than  when  it  has  been  employed  to  express  the  sustain- 
ing and  cheering  power  of  a  crucified,  but  risen  and  exalted 
Redeemer.  The  experience  which  has  led  through  sighs  and  tears, 
has  been  lighted  up  at  the  sight  of  the  cross. 

Here  it  is  I  find  my  heaven, 
Wh  Ic  upon  the  cro88 1  gazo ; 
Love  I  much  ?    I've  much  forgiven ; 
I'm  a  miracle  of  grace." 


\rquaint  t.'iee  ic.V/i  l/,T/s>lf,  coii/fsfing 
"!'!//rai!ly,asa  crra/nre  nf,.ie  clay, 
'd  in  the  dying  sod  bihoUl  (he  emblem 
Of  life  immnrtiil  cradled  in  decay. 


! 


"  YET  THE  LORD  THINKETH  UPON  y.K    —'Dama.. 

|N  the  calm  still  night,  with  only  tho  stars  visible  above  it 
and  with  its  feet  on  the  cold,  rough  earth,  a  meditative 
spirit  is  seen,  reflecting  upon  its  own  destiny.  In  its  right 
hand,  is  a  miniature  human  statue,  exquisitely  wrought,  and  in  the 
ether,  the  graving  chisel  with  which  it  has  executed  its  work. 

Wherein— the  human  inquirer  seems  to  ask— wherein  a.- 
I  superior  to  the  work  of  my  own  hands?  I,  too,  am  fashioned 
out  of  the  dust.  My  form  is  perhaps  less  symmetrical  and  perfect 
than  that  which  I  have  MTought,  and  it  may  even  sooner,  perhaps 
be  doomed  to  perish.  Is  it  that  I  have  life  ?  So  have  beasts  and 
birds?  and  some  of  these  range  free,  where  I  am  confined  within 
bounds.     How,  then,  am  I  better  than  they  ? 

The  question  cannot  be  answered  till  the  soul  becomes  con- 
scious of  itself  and  its  endowments,  as  well  as  of  its  filial  relation  to 
its  Maker.  The  image  reflects  the  artisan's  skill,  but  not  the  divine 
likeness.  The  bird  may  know  its  season,  and  construct  its  nest 
with  the  utmost  reach  of  sagacity  ;  but  though  fed  by  an  unseen 


jfi  LIFE    STUDY. 


benefactor,  it  can  only  thank  him  with  its  unconscious  song.  It  is 
not  so  with  man.  The  broad  leaves  and  the  green  earth  map 
themselves  on  his  eyeball,  with  a  meaning  and  beauty  wliich  the 
soaring  eagle  never  discerns.  He  is  God's  child,  and  may  know 
and  love  Him,  and  at  the  same  time,  share  this  love.  He  can  enter 
into  holy  communion  with  his  Father  and  his  God,  and  even  in  the 
degradation  of  his  prodigal  wanderings,  his  soul,  in  refusing  husks, 
testifies  how  it  thirsts  and  hungers  after  God. 

But  one  of  the  most  important  truths  which  the  soul  should 
bear  in  mind,  is  that  of  the  frailty  of  all  things  on  earth.  The  urn 
beneath,  on  which  we  read  the  word,  argillu,  "  clay,"  is  a  remem- 
brance of  man's  origin  and  destiny,  as  the  tenant  of  a  feeble  and 
perishing  body.  If  tempted  to  pride,  if  allured  by  fancies  which 
paint  before  his  eyes  cheating  images  of  the  future,  if  disposed  to 
build  and  rest  upon  the  vain  promise  of  to-morrow,  he  need  only 
turn  his  eye  to  the  old  funereal  urn  which  holds  the  ashes  of 
earthly  greatness,  or  to  the  grassy  m(  und  that  now  covers,  with  its 
tame  verdure,  a  form  that  was  once  almost  adored.  The  lessons  of 
urn  and  mound,  are  lessons  which  the  soul  needs  to  humble  it,  to 
bring  down  aU  its  high  thoughts,  and  teach  it  in  all  lowliness  to 
seek  a  life  which  does  not  own  the  grave  for  a  boundary,  and  soars 
on  the  wings  of  immortal  hope  far  above  clay  and  urn. 

It  is  true,  man's  skill  may  fashion  the  statue.  It  may  carve 
the  marble  till  it  glows  with  the  eloquent  expression  of  thought 
and  passion,  but  it  cannot  put  the  glow  of  a  divine  life  on  the  fea- 
tures of  the  soul.  That  is  the  work  only  of  the  divine  artist,  and 
when  it  is  done,  the  soul  may  triumph  in  the  thought,  that  though 
the  handiwork  of  its  skill  may  outlast  tho  body,  and  though  the 
century  oak  may  spread  its  branches  over  the  crumbling  hand  that 
planted  it,  the  soul,  living  the  new  life  of  faith  in  the  Son  of  God, 
shall  triumph  in  the  doom  of  a  dissolving  earth  and  blazing 
heavens. 


And  farlhbjpridf  is  like  the  passing  flo,..,. 
That  springs  to  /all,  and  blossoms  but  to  die  ; 
'Tis  as  the  tow'r  erected  on  a  cloud, 
Baselestand  sill;,,  as  the  schoul-boy's  dream. 


yE  SHALL  BE  <?0V.=?'O"">'-.r-i   =-nr>  ^-.^  ^  .  r,^ 

i^.v.  u iO  ^.Qj^  -v^s  GARDENS  YE  HA  VE  CHOSEN. 


|HE  world  is  a  Proteus  in  the  variety  of  shapes  which  it 
assumes.  To  one  it  seems  a  puradiso,  all  the  paradise 
that  ho  desire.;  to  another,  disappointed,  disgusted,  an.l 
overtaken  by  sorrow  or  angui.h,  it  is  a  hollow  mockery.  Even 
carnal  pleasure,  that  had  idolized  it  once,  learns  at  length  to 
contemn  it  and  denounce  it  as  a  cheat. 

Here  we  see  the  different  worlds  of  pleasure,  of  ambition,  of 
taste  and  display-the  worlds  of  sense,  m  which  many  live  and 
move,  and  have  their  being-represented  as  immense  eggs,  within 
the  cavifaes  of  which  are  concealed,  ready  to  break  forth,  serpent 
fonns,  Hke  that  which  is  seen  reax^ng  its  horrid  form  aloft,  and 
g  anng  with  savage  mien  and  forked  tongue.     It  is  intubated 
plainly  that  the  object  of  the  soul's  perverse  idolatry  is  the  hollow 
shell  that  conceals  a  venomous  and  deadly  foe.     This,  however  is 
not  known  or  suspected,  till  the  broad  beam  of  light  from  heaJen 
comes  down  and  manife.sts  the  world  as  it  is,  piercing  throuo-h  it 
and  making  it  so  manifest,  that  even  carnal  pleasure,  seated  nenr 
by,  made  helpless  by  the  very  hmnner  in  which  it  is  tricked  out 
cannot  bear  the  sight     Unable  to  walk  or  stand,  by  reason  of  its' 


ISO 


A    LIFE    CiTUDY 


ornaments  becoming  its  bonds  and  fetters,  it  is  also  blinded  by  the 
glare  of  the  light  that  exposes  the  vanity  of  its  idols,  and  so  it  sits, 
bent  forward,  helpless,  humiliated,  covering  its  face  with  its  hands, 
and  estranged  completely  and  forever  from  its  former  joys. 

But  that  which  fills  carnal  pleasure  with  terror  and  despair, 
appears  far  different  to  the  eye  of  faith.  The  believing  soul 
contemns  what  the  other  has  idolized,  and  when  the  beam  of  light 
comes  down  from  heaven,  all  earthly  things  molt  away  and  are 
dissolved  in  its  blaze.  It  looks  up  to  its  great  source,  the  Sun  of 
Righteousness,  and  it  sees  no  earthly  interest  or  worldly  splendor 
any  more.  The  only  thing  whiih  intervenes  to  intercept  or 
moderate  the  intensity  of  its  blaze,  is  the  cross,  which  presents  its 
shaded  side  to  the  eye.  This  serves,  as  we  see  bolow,  as  a  veil,  to 
temper  a  light  which  mortal  weakness  could  not  endure  to  approach 
and  behold.  It  is  tho  humanity  <>f  the  sufferer  on  the  cross  that 
veils  the  glory  of  his  divinity  so  that  mortal  vision  can  endure  it. 
The  cross  fixes  tho  eye,  and  while  the  soul's  gaze  rests  upon  it,  the 
glory  of  the  infinite  One  ia  interpreted  to  human  weakness,  and, 
instead  of  overpowering  and  appalling,  lights  up  the  cross  with  its 
own  splendor,  and  makes  it  a  guideboard  in  the  heavenly  way. 

Such  is  the  contrast  between  carnal  pleasure  and  the  behoving 
soul.  One  ia  dazzled  by  the  blaze  that  exposes  the  hollowness  of 
its  hopes.  The  other  ia  attracted,  enlightened,  and  pointed  heaven- 
ward by  the  broad,  glorious  beam.  One  sees  the  serpent ;  the 
other  the  cross.  One  sinks  ashamed  and  confounded  in  the  midst 
of  its  idolatries,  the  other  looks  up  to  heaven,  and  forgets  all  the 
vanity  of  a  world  which  it  can  only  despise.  One  is  helpless  in 
the  bonds  of  its  own  ornaments.  The  other  is  only  emancipated 
from  all  the  bondage  of  darkness  by  the  light  that  exposes  all  the 
hollow  idolatries  of  the  world. 


//"/'■  /.'/.''  a  rnrilinl,  iiiiinn'uC,  Ihnuijh  ulrnng, 
Jltui\i  In  (irt  at  once   innitiriU^  and  si'rrnis  ; 
Anr  iHiikfs  MiniHii/  his  wisilom  for  /tin  Joij.t. 


WHICH    IICPK    -.VE  HAVE   AS   AH  ANCHOR  rp   THE   SOUL.  FOTH 
rUFB  AND  STEADFAST  '~n-,u' 

^OEACE,   in   momomblo   Hiips,    Inis   skotchorl   the   noblost 
character  of  wliic'h  he  could  form  a  coiicoption. 

.IiiBliim  et  tcnnccm  pi-opoRlli  vii-iiin.* 

But  tlioro  is  a  lofty  grandeur  which  lins  been  witnessed  in 
eonneotion  with  a  religion  he  would  have  despised,  to  which  his 
ideal  was  altogether  inferior.  One  of  the  most  forcible  and  just 
lines  of  Young  asserts 

"TheCliilsiinnlHtlie  liiifliput  style  of  ninn. 

and  the  truth  has  been  vindicated  in  chapters  of  human  experience, 
which  sometimes  melt  to  tears,  and  sometimes  inspire  to  lieroio  self- 
denial. 

We  have  the  Christian  ideal  here  presented  to  view,  and  we 
see  the  support  on   which  it  rests.     We  witness  a  countenance 


*  Tho  mnn  juBt  and  unyielding  in  purpose. 


ISO 


A  l:fs  study 


which  bears  upon  it  the  Btniiip  of  jjurity,  (nihii  Horonity,  olovatod 
purpose  and  inward  peaoo.  Tho  soul  is  Uj^ured  leaning  upon  an 
anchor,  and  we  know  what  that  anchor  is.  It  is  tho  houI's  Buro 
and  steadfast  hopo,  tho  cross,  with  its  base  expanded  to  lioUl  fast 
when  all  else  is  driven  or  torn  by  the  storm,  llosting  upon  it, 
with  the  eye  of  faith  lifted  to  heaven,  the  soul  muy  bo  indiUbr- 
ent  to  oil  external  things.  Flowers  may  bloom  around  it,  or  tho 
rough  earth  and  the  shapeless  rocks  may  fonn  its  prospect,  but  it 
looks  beyond  them  all,  beholding  a  spiritual  firmament  where  tho 
sun  never  sots,  and  the  clouds  gather  not,  while  beneath  is  a  bloom 
that  is  blasted  by  no  frost,  and  that  covers  no  grave. 

Above  «re  see  the  anchor  again,  but  now  M-ith  its  cable  made 
fast  to  it,  and  so  coiled  that  it  pictures  to  us  human  hearts,  which 
it  unites  together  by  a  more  than  telegraphic  communion.  That,  on 
which  the  individual  heart  reposes,  furnishes  a  common  basis  for 
the  communion  of  kindred  hearts. 

But  the  enduring  nature  of  the  Christian's  security,  as  ho  leans 
upon  his  anchor,  is  symbolized  below.  There  is  the  rock,  lifting 
itself  proudly  aloft,  above  the  fierce  and  raging  billows,  mocking 
their  fierce  assault  by  its  steadfast  strength.  Let  them  chafe  and 
foam  as  they  will,  they  can  make  no  impression  upon  it.  Deep 
fixed  on  a  basis,  invisible  and  far  beneath,  it  challenges  all  their 
ftiry,  and  survives  all  their  violence. 

So  it  is  with  the  soul,  resting  on  Him  who  is  the  only  foxmda- 
tion;  established  upon  an  invisible  support,  which  underlies  tho 
chongiu^r  surface  and  raging  waves  of  this  sea  of  life.  Supported 
by  this,  it  challeu^jes  the  tribute, 

"  On  the  Bock  of  Agc-a  founded, 

What  con  abake  thy  sure  repose  t " 


Indeed  it  experiences  the  truth  of  these  wonderful  words, 
"  This  is  the  victory  that  overcometh  the  world,  even  our  faith." 


A  I IFR  aruDY 


7.v; 


Tn   the  words  of  that  quaint  old  mastor  o*"  omblems,  the  poet 
QutirloH: 

"  No  hope  (IpooItor  It,  nrwl  tio  donht  dlvldci  It : 

No  KTlof  dlMturh*  It,  nnd  no  error  guldcii  It; 

No  good  contomn«  It,  nnd  no  virtue  blames  It; 

No  Kullt  condumnn  It,  and  no  folly  nhamcs  It; 

No  Hloth  ItcHotR  It,  and  no  liiHt  IntlirnlU It; 

No  dcorn  iiffll>  t»  It,  and  no  |Jol»on  i;all«  it; 

It  Ih  aciiMkt't  of  immortal  life, 

An  Ark  of  IVucd." 

Fnith  in  tlio  oriuiifiod  Ono  lifts  it  above  the  world,  giw-  il 
communion  with  hoavon,  n.akes  its  life  a  walk  with  God,  so  that  all 
n.ituro  is  subdued  into  tribute  to  its  welfare,  and  present  afflictions 
become  light,  as  they  work  out  its  future  glory. 


'^m 


^ 


T/ius  reason  huirns  by  sloiv  degrees 
W'lial  faith  rereaLt ;  but  still  cumplains 
Of  intellectual  pains, 
And  darkness  from  the  exuberant  light. 


Ih 

^r^ 
~)^ 

A 


•  HAVING  THE  UN'DEPSTANQIlINa  <SARKENS^.  BE:NJ   AZTENATE<D 
FROM  THE  LIFE  OF  GO<D  .     .     .   BECA  U3E  OF  THE  BLIN'S'.'E3S 
OF  THEIR  HEART    ■—Paul 


r«vgAN'S  reason,  left  to   grope  its  own  way,  may  devise  a 
nSyA  B  scheme  of  religion  more  or  less  adaptiil  to  the  heart's 


depraved  tastes,  but  it  will  never  find  a  Saviour.  For 
how  does  it  search  for  him  ?  Just  as  we  see  its  course  pictured 
before  us  in  the  emblem.  It  gropes  its  way  blindfolded,  -vnth  its 
fool's  cap  for  a  lantern,  and  its  path  illuminated  only  by  the  feeble;/ 
rays.  In  every  respect  it  dooms  itself  to  failure.  By  its  aversion 
to  the  Cross  of  Christ,  it  turns  its  back  upon  him,  and  puts  a  deep, 
rocky  precipice  between  it  and  Calvary.  Then  its  own  natural 
powers  have  been  so  dimmed  and  obscured  by  sin  and  sinful  indul- 
gence, that  it  may  be  said  to  have  blindfolded  itself.  Yet,  by 
sparks  of  its  own  kindling,  by  inventions  of  its  own  de\ising,  it 
contrives  to  kindle  an  artificial  light  in  the  darkness,  but  no  light 
that  will  display  the  world  as  it  is,  or  the  heart  as  ft  is,  or  allow  of 


1S4 


yl    LIFE    STUDY 


any  such  prospect  as  will  discover  to  it  the  pilgrim-beaten  way  to 
the  cross.     How  aptly  does  Cowper  say, 

"  Yet  thus  we  dote,  refusing,  ■while  wo  can, 
Instruction,  and  inventing  to  ourselves 
Gods  such  as  guilt  mokes  welcome ,  Gods  that  sleep, 
Or  disregard  our  lollies,  or  that  sit 
Amused  spectators  of  this  bustling  Btagc. 
Thee  we  reject,  unable  to  abide 
Thy  purity,  till,  pure  as  thou  art  pure. 
Made  so  by  thee,  we  love  theo  for  that  cause, 
For  which  we  shunned  and  hated  thee  before." 


It  is  the 


predi 


'8  preaisposition  to  what  is  sinful  and  selfish,  that 
makes  it  like  the  dark  lantern  which  we  see  above.  If  a  spark  of 
the  divine  light  has  been  kindled  within  it,  the  heart  itself,  ren- 
dered opaque  by  its  own  lusts  and  passions,  closes  up  the  orifice,  or 
displaces  the  glass  through  which  it  might  shine  forth. 

For  the  cross  of  Christ  has  ever  been  obnoxious  to  human 
reason.  It  has  be^r'  "  to  the  Jew  a  stumbling-block,  and  to  the 
Greek  foolishness.  It  has  been  only  to  those  who  have  been  pre- 
viously humbled  and  subdued,  "  the  power  of  God  and  the  wisdom 
of  God  unto  salvation."  Hence  the  effort  has  been  often  made  to 
divide  it,  to  take  one  part  of  its  teachings  and  leave  the  other.  But 
they  must  not  be  thus  mutilated,  or  robbed  of  their  completeness. 
The  Gospel  is  a  whole  and  entire  Gospel,  or  it  is  none.  There  is 
nothing  superfluous,  there  is  nothing  wanting.  "Is  Christ  di- 
vided ?  "  No  more  can  his  cross  be,  as  we  see  in  the  picture,  if 
torn  asunder,  must  still  be  kept  together,  so  that  all  may  see  that 
they  belong  to  each  other,  and  supplement  one  another. 

But  it  is  this  indisposition  of  the  heart  toward  spiritual  truth 
that  blinds  it.  "  The  natural  mind  receiveth  not  the  things  of  the 
Spirit  of  God."  They  are  "  spiritually  discerned,"  and  without 
spiritual  discernment,  the  cross  may  stand  on  the  lofty  hill  that  we 
see  dimly  in  the  background,  and  the  full  light  of  heaven's  noon- 
day glory  may  fall  upon  it,  yet  the  soul  that  turns  away,  follo\ving 


fi   LIFE    STUDY. 

the  glimmoring  beams  of  its  own  reason,  or  putting  the  bandage 
of  willfuhiess  and  self-seeking  before  its  eyes,  shaU  never  discern 
it. 

How  pitiable  is  that  bUnd  groping  which  is  pictured  here' 
And  yet  such  is  frequently  the  groping  of  strong  and  gifted 
minds,  pushing  their  explorations  deeper  and  deeper  into  nature's 
darkness,  till,  lost  and  despairing,  they  can  only  accept  as  the  higli- 

coteriet'"'"'"''*  ""^  °'^''   ""'"   '''''^'    *^^"   S^"°'^  «^  '^^^  ^^^  ^- 

"  Are  these  the  pompous  tidings  yo  proclaim- 
Liglit  of  the  world,  and  demi-god's  of  flami!  f 
******♦♦•♦ 

For  this  hath  science  sought,  on  V'«.iry  wing,  *  *  *     ' 

From  shore  to  shore,  each  mute  aud  living'  thing." 


^     ^. 


• 


^1^^-^^ 


0)ie  htlrr  in  lite  niphixbet  of  hedtvii. 
One  Utter  hdiiund  more  than  all  the  rest, 
And  S2»'lls  vf!iim,'s--lis  t/ir  croas  of  Christ. 


''^^^^^^^^.Ip'^^ 


■BUT  OO^D  FORBIO  T:rAT  I  SIfOaLO  O 


:or: 


Ob'  ou;i  LoncD  jksus  Christ.  ■■■ 


:rE  CROSS 


OUL  immortal !     We  hero  have  it-no  longer  blindly  seek- 
^  ing  an  unseen  good-but  kneeUng  before  the  cross,  clasp- 
^  iiig  it  with  one  hand,  while  tlie  other  is  lifted  in  praise  or 
prayer.     Tlie  great  discovery  has  been  made.     The  wanderer  wan- 
ders no  more.     Every  bandage  is  torn  from  the  eyes ;  the  fools- 
cap, no  longer  forced  to  serve  as  a  lantern,  is  flung  down  neglected 
to  the  earth,  while  a  human  heart,  central  in  a  frame  bordered 
with  light,  basks  in  the  fuU  cloudless  radiance  that  falls  upon  it 
from  the  cross.     Here  are  light,  peace,  joy  and  triumph,  at  last.  The 
soul  has  found  its  rest.     Its  thoughts  soar  and  exult,  while  it  kneels 
to  pray.     It  has-no  more  to  ask.     Its  last,  and  most  earnest  longing 
is  satisfied  now. 

Henceforth,  as  we  see  above,  the  heart  is  bound  fast  to  the 
cross,  and  is  supported  by  it-bound  by  the  branches  and  tendrils 
of  the  "  vine  "-the  love  of  Christ.  This  upholds  and  sustains  it. 
It  IS  a  sure  support  that  can  never  faU.     In  weakness,  ia  sorrow 


:r:3  A     LIFE    STUDY 

in  desertion,  in  worldliness,  when  heart  and  flesh  fail,  this  is  its 
strength  and  its  joy,  and  will  become  its  salvation. 

Another  phase  of  this  intimate  connection  is  set  forth  below. 
There  we  see  the  emblem  of  the  life  immortal,  bound  fsi&t  to  tlio 
volume  of  truth,  that  volume  which  reveals  the  cross-bearer,  who 
has  brought  life  and  immortality  to  light,  who  has  said,  "I  am  the 
resurrection  and  the  life,"  and  of  whom  it  was  written,  "the  life 
was  the  light  of  men."  Take  the  Bible  away,  and  the  hopeful  of 
immortality  would  have  nothing  upon  which  to  rest,  nothing  on 
which  to  feed.  It  is  the  promises  of  grace,  all  dependent  upon  the 
cross,  upon  which  the  soul  lives,  and  in  the  confidence  of  which, 
hope  soars  at  length  upward  to  the  final  blessedness. 

There  is  no  discovery  so  precious  to  the  sovd  as  the  discovery 
of  the  cross.  It  is  not  the  mere  sight  of  the  object  that  meets  the 
eye,  but  the  meaning  of  it  that  greets  the  soul.  It  is  a  discovery 
to  the  soul  of  a  new  world  of  spiritual  life,  when  its  cravings  are 
sati.sfied,  and  where  it  is  content  to  rest.  It  finds  here  what  mines 
are  too  poor  to  give,  "  the  unsearchable  riches  of  Christ."  It  ob- 
tains here  what  may  not  be  obtained  from  softest  pillows,  or  beds 
of  down,  the  peace  which  Christ  gives.  It  enjoys  here  the  sight 
which  no  mountain  top  affords — the  sight  of  a  pardoning,  gracious, 
covenant  God.  The  great  problem  which  thousands  have  essayed 
in  vain — ^where  shall  wisdom  be  found  ? — is  solved  here.  The  great 
question  that  has  agitated  ages,  and  expressed  the  throbbing 
anxieties  of  trembling  souls — *'  How  shall  man  be  just  with  God  ?  " 
— is  answered  here.  The  soul  on  earth  can  aspire  to  nothing 
higher  or  better  than  what  is  secured  it,  when  kneeling  under  the 
shadow  of  the  cross.  All  that  carnal  minds  seek  seems  poor  and 
despicable,  by  the  side  of  that  wliich  belongs  to  th6  soul,  when 
kneeling  by  the  cross,  it  feels  warranted  to  exclaim, 


i'tli 


"Since  Christ  is  mine,  and  I  am  hie, 
What  can  I  want  beside  V 


A     L:FE    STifDY. 


ir') 


There  is  no  longer  an  impulse  to  roam  in  weary  search  for 
some  unknown,  some  uncertain  good.  Here,  as  in  a  transparent 
glass,  is  seen  ths  vanity  of  all  that  earth  can  give,  the  delusion  of 
those  who  hope  to  bring  from  visible  possessions,  that  immaterial 
and  spiritual  blessedness,  which  alone  can  satisfy  the  soul.  And 
here,  too,  is  apprehended  something  of  that  everlasting'  blessedness 
which  "  eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard." 


.L-. 


;i 


T/ierr,  if  thy  Spirit  touch  the.  soul, 
AnUyraiP  her  men,,  iboUi;  ; 

0!t  !  Willi  what  pe.an;  II  11(1  Joy,  and  lov 
She  thtit  cuiHiHuties  with  Gcd! 


■'  AN.^  HA  TIT  MA  T-  ^^7  K:ro3  A:i  D  r;,:^o..^  ^.,.^  ^^^  ,^^^,  ^ 

RESENTED  to  view  lioro,  wo  have  tli-,  symbol  of  the  voiy 
highest  power  and  authority,  to  w.ich  mortal  man  ran 
aspire.     Wealth  and  dominion  a^,  here  combined  with 
that  majesty  and  awe  which  invest  supremo  earthly  royalty.     We 
may  imagine  the  personage  before  u.s  to  be  an  Ahasueinis,  or  Alexan- 
der, or  even,  if  possible,  a  gi-eater  than  these.     The  worM  h  be- 
neath his  feet,  indicating  his  control  over  it.     A  crown  on  his  liead, 
and  a  sceptre  in  his  hand,  indicate  tliat  he  is  at  once  ruler  and  ex- 
ecutor, dispensing  justice  or  mercy  at  will.     The  circle  of  light 
about  hia  head,  is,  inc^eed,  no  divine  halo,  but  it  is  such  effulgence 
as  attends  earthly  greatness.    The  figure— encircled,  as  it  is  with 
butterflies,  emblems  of  Hfe  from  the  grave-is  to  be  considered  as 
within  thf  sphere  of  man's  spiritual  interests. 

The  question  at  once  suggested  by  the  symbol  is,  what  penal- 
ties can  such  a  being  inflict,  or  what  fevors  can  he  bestow  ?  But 
first  of  all,  whatcan  he  asjiire  to  himself?    The  answer  is  seen  m 


14B 


A    LIFE    CTUDY 


I* 


I] 


WO  look  above.  If  ho  rule  in  lovo,  and  sot  the  hearts  of  his  people 
as  the  jewels  of  his  {Tf)^vn,  and  those  hearts  glow  and  burn  with 
the  flame  of  devotion,  thon  shall  his  crown  bo  combined  with  a 
sceptre  like  Aaron's  rod  that  budded,  and  on  the  bloom  of  the 
flower  into  which  its  summit  spreads,  lu)pes  full  of  immortality 
shall  feed.  Or  if  he  rulo  as  himself  immortal,  and  make  his  crown 
rich  with  immortal  hopes,  then  it  shall  inclose  Avith  it  a  sceptre,  as 
gentle  as  a  human  heart,  which  boars  fruit  in  a  world  with  its 
anchor — a  world  which  is  provided  with  an  abiding  security  against 
every  raging  tempest. 

Such  are  the  capabilities  of  unlimited  earthly  power,  but  even 
this,  however  exalted,  has  its  necessary  conditions.  Wickedness, 
or  the  malum,  **  evil,"  whieh  wo  see  below,  written  on  the  body  of  a 
suspended  serpent,  knotted  in  its  agony,  yet  hissing  oiit  its  malig- 
nity still,  must  be  punished,  and  no  power  or  authority  can  evade 
the  necessity.  Nor  is  this  all.  It  must  be  offset  by  the  suspended 
sword,  on  which  we  read  Poena,  or  "  Penalty,"  indicating  that 
where  guilt  is,  no  worldly  dominion,  no  sceptered  control,  can  dis- 
pense with  the  use  of  the  instruments  of  justice. 

We  see  here,  also,  a  supplemented  cross,  to  the  extended  arms 
of  which  the  serpent  and  sword  are  suspended.  It  is  not,  and  on 
earth,  it  cannot  be  a  simple  cross,  but  one  supplemented  by  in- 
genious supports,  by  human  inventions,  bracing  it  up,  and  impart- 
ing to  it  strength.  The  mightiest  monarch  has  no  provision,  and 
can  have  none,  for  pardoning  guilt  and  maintaining  justice,  by  a 
naked,  simple  cross,  no  provision  by  which  he  can  safely  say  to 
each  penitent  offender,  "  You  are  pardoned ;  go  forth  free."  He 
must  have  a  cross  on  which  shall  be  seen — not  an  innocent  victim, 
voluntarily  offering  himself,  in  the  fullness  of  redeeming  love,  but 
one  that  shall  exhibit  to  view  at  once  the  drawn  sword  and  the 
writhing  serpent,  and  shall  be  seen  to  be  visibly  propped  and 
braced  by  human  statutes,  by  rigid  laws,  and  marshalled  forces. 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


14H 


But  that  to  which  the  highest  possible  authority  and  power  of 
earth  may  not  aspire  to,  is  attained  in  the  counsel  of  infinite  and 
divine  love.  Ho  that  took  not  the  fonu  of  a  king,  but  of  a  steward, 
who  trampled  not  on  the  world,  but  allowed  it  to  trample  on  him, 
who  instead  of  filling  a  visible  throne  had  been  dothroiunl  in  the 
hearts  of  a  race,  and  hud  a  reed  placed  in  his  hands  as  a  mock 
sceptre,  has  attained  a  dominion  that  shall  be  an  everlasting  do- 
minion, and  opened  a  way  of  pardon  by  whicjh  he  can  say  to  the 
guiltiest,  low  in  the  dust  uf  penitence — Go  and  uiu  uo  more. 


i> 


•■  AS  FOR  THE    LiClHT   OF  MINE    EYES.   THAT  ALSO  IS  GONE  EJ^OM 


JHRIST'S  cross  owes  its  glory  to  the  illuminating  beams  of 
tho  heart    of  infinite   lovo.     Wherever   these  come,  it  is 

"radiant.  That  heart  is  the  orb  that  pours  its  light  alike  on 
the  cross  and  the  renewed  soul.  Around  it,  as  around  the  sun,  we 
see  the  rainbow-hued  circles  of  light,  with  that  more  distant  halo 
which  quenches  the  stars  within  its  sphere.  Looking  upon  the 
cross,  we  can  see  its  edge  lit  up,  just  where  the  radiance  of  this 
heart  falls  upon  it.  Elsewhere  there  is  shadow,  mystery,  but 
mystery,  that  in  the  full  noon-day  of  eternal  light  will  all  vanish 
away. 

But  sometimes  the  cross  presents  its  dark  side  to  us,  or,  rather, 
we  place  ourselves  in  such  a  way  that  the  light  of  the  great  heart 
of  love  is  obscured,  and  then,  while  we  are  in  the  shade,  the  cross 
to  us  is  shadowed  also.  We  may  even  sit  down  beneath  it ;  we 
may  still,  perhaps,  be  leaning  against  it.     It  may  yet  be  unspeak- 


i4d 


A  LIFE    STUDY. 


ably  precious  to  us,  and  if  we  have  ever  exclaimed  with  the  apostle, 
"  God  forbid  that  I  should,  glory,  save  in  the  cross  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,"  we  have  no  disposition  to  recall  the  words.  We 
have  experienced  the  blessed  power  of  that  cross,  too  frequently 
and  too  deeply,  ever  to  doubt  it  or  call  it  in  question. 

And  yet,  perhaps  even  the  cross  seems  shadowed  to  us,  and  we 
ourselves  are  shadowed  beneath  it.  There  are  difficulties,  fears, 
anxities,  troubled  luusingE;;  inexplicable  providences,  and  our  pros- 
pect is  obscured  and  dim  Why?  Because  wo  do  not  so  place 
ourselves,  as  to  look  through  the  cross  or  beyond  it,  and  see  that 
heart  of  love  which  lends  to  it  all  its  lustre,  and  in  a  moment  can 
chase  away  the  last  shadow  of  fear  from  the  soul. 

Have  we  then  ceased  to  be  God's  cliildren,  because  the  bright- 
ness of  our  prospect  is  dim,  and  the  cross  has  not  that  surpassing 
lustre  which,  to  our  eyes,  it  had  worn  before  ?  " 

Look  above,  and  the  question  is  answered.  There  is  the 
sheep,  but  there  is  no  shepherd  to  be  seen.  Is  it  lost  ?  has  it  been 
abandoned  ?  No !  The  shepherd's  crook  ia  by  its  side,  and  the 
flag  waves  from  its  top,  and  when  that  crook  rests,  and  that  flag 
waves,  nothing,  not  even  the  weakest  and  the  feeblest,  can  be  lost. 
The  shepherd  is  not  far  away.  The  wandering  sheep  has  but  to 
see  that  flag  from  far,  and  hasten  to  it,  and  it  will  be  found  of  him 
when  it  would  find  itself.  What  the  crook  and  the  flag  are  to  the 
shepherd,  that  the  cross  is  to  Christ.  It  is  the  symbol  of  his  near- 
ness as  well  as  of  his  power. 

It  is  by  no  means  in  vain  that  the  soul  ia  left  at  times  to  walk 
along  a  shadowed  way.  It  may  need  a  discipline  which  is  thus 
most  wisely  administered.  Looking  below  we  see  the  butterfly 
feeding  upon  fruit,  that  has  fallen  from  the  branches  of  the  tree 
above  it.  It  is  in  the  shade,  and  yet  it  is  feeding  on  what  will 
minister  to  its  life  and  strength.  So  it  is  with  the  soul's  immortal 
hope.    It  may  sometimes  be  overshadowed,  and  overshadowed,  too, 


A     LIFE    STUDY. 


247 


by  tJie  y  of  life,  and  whUe  thus  overshadowed  be  feeding  on  the 
richest  food,  be  gathering  new  sixength  and  life  and  joy  It  n.av 
not  be  left  deserted,  but  led  through  darkness  to  more  glorious 
hght,  to  a  higher  pla^e,  to  a  purer  blessedness. 


"DarknesB  is  but  the  bordering  of   ight, 

Tlie  lino  which  ^how8  the  son!  where  It  may  pass 
From  night  lo  noon.    It  is  tlic  veil,  which  rent, 

Ab  ,t  shall  be,  the  pearly  gates  stand  ajar, 
And  love,  with  beckoning  hand,  invites  to  enter. 


1->S^) 


I.KA  '^mSSS  INTO  THEIR  r^OULr 


HEN  one  feeds  and  thrives,  another  will  starve.  The  fuod 
of  a  sensual  is  the  poison  of  a  spiritual  nature.  Tliiri  is 
illustrated  in  the  diverse  effect  produced  upon  the  two 
diverse  characters,  to  whom  the  world  is  here  seen  to  offer  liei- 
breasts.  One  of  these,  with  unreflecting  eagerness  and  a  greedy 
appetite,  drinks  in  nourishment,  and  the  rounded  and  obese  form 
which  he  presents,  shows  how  well  he  thrives.  He  is  sensualism 
incarnate.  He  is  of  the  earth  earthy.  All  higher  aspirations  ar« 
smothered  and  stifled  under  the  load  of  flesh.  He  seems  to  enjoy 
the  serene  composure  of  a  swine  at  his  trough.  He  has  his  pleas- 
ures, but  they  are  the  pleasures  of  a  brute. 

la  the  other  character,  we  discover  another  nature.     Even  iiw 
his  misery,  the  lingering  stamp  of  original  nobleness  is  seen.     Hi.s 
worn   and  wasted  wings,  his  shriveled  limbs,  his  meagre,   pain- 
marked  features,  and  all  the  negUgence  of  his  dress  and  hair,  be- 
speak the  presence  within  him  of  a  conscious  need,  and  a  conscious 


i 


160 


4    LIFE    STUDY. 


misery,  such  as  coarse  and  carnal  natures  never  know.     He  is  ca- 
pable of  something  more  than  sensual  suffering  as  well  as  sensual 

joy- 
To  both,  the  world  yields  abundantly  from  her  full  breasts. 
But  the  taste  of  one,  more  gross  than  that  of  the  other,  allows  him 
to  apply  his  lips  directly  to  the  fountain.  The  other  would  gather 
up  the  flowing  stream  that  he  may  leisurely  drink,  but  he  has 
nothing  in  which  to  receive  it,  but  the  sieve,  through  which  of 
course  it  passes,  flowing  into  the  open  mouth  of  a  tunnel  that  con- 
ducts it  into  the  earth.  If  the  outflow  was  less  abundant,  perhaps 
he  too  might  apply  his  lips,  and  overcoming  his  fastidiousness,  en- 
joy to  some  extent,  at  least,  the  food  offered  him.  But  the  very 
abundance  is  such,  that  like  one  sated  at  a  feast,  he  revolts  from 
fuller  indulgence,  and  pines  for  very  plenty.  Thus  the  motto  is 
verified,  inopeinme  copiafecit^  "abundance  has  made  me  poor." 

Glancing  at  the  bordering  of  the  picture,  we  see  above  an  ex- 
quisitely-carved cross,  firmly  planted  on  an  elevated  pedestal,  by 
the  side  of  which  are  two  cornucopias,  representing  worldly  abun- 
dance, pouring  forth  their  heterogeneous  store,  as  flowers  and  thorns, 
fools-caps,  and  bones  and  skulls,  while  between  them  a  full  globe 
is  discharging  its  superabundant  fullness  upon  a  human  heart,  that 
yet  does  not  receive  or  retain  a  single  drop.  Beneath,  we  see  a 
himian  heart,  with  crab-hke  claws,  grasping  greedily,  but  grasping 
only  the  air,  thus  indicating  the  eager  thirst  of  the  human  soul,  to 
possess  something  which  it  can  neither  see  nor  define. 

All  this  is  for  the  instruction  and  admonition  of  those  who  de- 
pend for  sustenance  on  the  breasts  of  the  vrorid.  If  already  bru- 
..taUzed,  their  Eensual  nature  may  obtain  its  appropriate  indulgence ; 
but  if  the  original  instincts  of  the  angel  still  linger,  all  this  world's 
treasures,  poured  from  its  cup  of  plenty  aire  only  flowers  and 
thorns,  fools-caps  and  skeletons.  The  soul  is  not  fed  by  means  of 
pampered  appetites.     It  is  famished  at  a  Dives'  table.     The  very 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


151 


excess  provided  for  its  gratification  fills  it  with  loathing.  It  wastes 
away  amid  abundance,  which  its  better  thoughts  and  feelings  for- 
bid it  to  enjoy. 

And  yet  one  would  envy  the  latter  rather  than  the  former. 
Pampered  lust  and  appetite,  high  fed  and  even  gluttonized  by  un- 
restrained indulgence,  form  one  of  the  most  repulsive  spectacles  on 
earth.  Their  conjunction  with  a  human  soul  is  hideous.  It  is  as 
if  that  soul  was  coffined  in  obesity.  The  spirit  crushed  by  the  flesh 
is  more  tragic  than  the  Enceladus  of  classic  fable,  buried  under 
-^tna. 


% 


„ 


k 


For  her  my  tears  shall  fall. 
For  Iirr  my  yrayirs  ascend ; 

To  hrr  mil  cnrfis  and  toils  bi-  tjiven. 
Till  toilsoml  cans  shall  end. 


J 


INASMUCH  AC:'    YS   HAYS   Q-:ONB  IX  UN'IO  'liiB  LEAST   OF  THEi'E 

MY  Brethren,  ye  have  <Done  it  unto  me  --josus. 

NT  ANT  Divine !  we  here  see  hira  in  his  feebleness,  which 
this  humble  globe  cradles,  and  yet  to  him — the  promised 
Saviour — tlie  soul  trustingly  and  lovingly  bends.  It  is 
blessed,  unspeakably  blessed  in  the  privilege,  for  he  that  ministorH 
to  him  in  the  cradle,  shall  be  ministered  to  by  liim,  when  he  has 
passed  from  the  cradle  to  the  throne. 

This  is  the  assurance  of  the  master  himself.  His  cause,  with 
which  he  identifies  himself,  when  he  says — "  inasmuch  as  ye  have 
done  it  to  the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  mo" — 
is  now  weak  and  feeble,  and  calls  for  sympathy  and  help.  It  is  as 
it  were,  in  the  cradle  now.  It  will  accept  the  hand  and  help  of  our 
himian  weakness.  We  may  offer  it  the  incense  of  our  love,  and 
the  tribute  of  our  willing  and  cheerful  service.  And  this  shall  be 
remembered.  With  its  final  triumph,  our  own  shall  be  identified, 
and  the  tribute  we  have  paid  shall  not  bo  forgotten,  when  all  na- 
tions shall  have  become  its  tributaries. 


a  : 


IC-i  A  LIFE    aruDY. 

It  is  this  ministry  to  Christ's  weakness,  which  gives  wings 
to  the  soul,  and  bears  it  aloft,  where  it  may  behold  its  heavenly  in- 
heritance, while  with  folded  arms  it  presses  the  cross  of  Christ, 
still  more  closely  to  the  heart.  If  forced  in  reviewing  the  past  to 
say 

"  I  was  a  groveling  creature  once, 
And  babcly  cleaved  to  cartb," 

Now  I  can  exclaim: 

"  But  God  ha4  breathed  upon  a  worm, 
And  sent  mo  from  above ; 
Wings  such  as  clothe  an  angelV  form, 
The  wings  of  joy  and  love." 

But  there  is  another  heart  that  does  not  merely  embrace  the 
cross,  but  is  nailed  to  it — a  heart  that  has  been  "  smitten  by  tlie 
archers."  It  is  this  heart  on  which  we  read  the  sacred  letters  I. 
H.  S.,  signed  with  the  cross.  We  see  the  stars  of  the  world's  idol- 
atries ranged  all  around,  for  each  of  theso  it  must  bleed.  For 
nearly  every  one  of  these,  there  is  a  corresponding  dart,  and  eaclx 
one  of  these  pierces,  or  is  designed  to  pierce  the  heart  of  infinite 
love,  that  bleeds  forth  the  balm  to  heal  the  world  that  inflicts  the 
wounds.  All  the  benefits  of  this  healing  balm  belong  to  those  who 
befriend  Christ  or  his  cause,  in  their  earthly  infancy  or  feebleness. 

How  consoling,  and  yet  inspiring  is  the  thought,  that  so  far  as 
liis  cause  is  concerned,  Christ  is  in  his  cradle  still,  and  can  be  min- 
istered to  by  feeble  human  endeavors.  We  can  befriend  him  in  be- 
friending those  he  loves.  We  can  receive  a  little  child  in  his  name. 
We  can  lay  our  frankincense  and  mjTrh,  and  the  tribute  of  our 
self-denial,  at  the  feet  of  an  infant  king. 

And  this  shall  not  be  forgotten,  while  we  press  the  cross  to  our 
bosom,  the  soul  shall  be  clothed  in  "wings  of  joy  and  love;"  it 
shall  soar  upward  on  wings  as  eagles,  it  shall  run  and  not  be  weary, 
it  shall  walk,  and  not  faint.  All  its  sins  shall  be  blotted  out.  For 
every  one  of  them,  there  has  been  an  arrow  of  anguish  and  redeem- 
ing agony,  shot  into  the  heart  of  infinite  love.     That  heart  with  all 


.4     LIFE    STUDY. 


ICS 


its  love,  with  all  its  cleansing  power,  with  all  its  atoning  efficacy, 
shall  be  the  sacrifice,  whose  merit  the  soul  may  plead,  and  shall  not 
plead  in  vain. 

Our  life  on  eari;h  places  us  therefore,  as  it  were,  by  tho  Saviour's 
cradle.  Ho  deigns  to  use  our  help,  and  accepts  our  offerings  now. 
It  will  not  alM-ays  bo  so.  Ere  long,  the  vineyard  will  be  ended ; 
earthly  service  will  be  uncalled  for,  and  tlie  infant  of  tho  cradle 
shall  rule  over  the  nations.  Then  the  idea  of  mortal  service  be- 
friending him  will  be  entertained  no  more.  Then  he  will  be  ex- 
alted to  his  throne.  He  will  need  no  more  our  gifts  or  toils.  But 
now  we  may  say : 

"  What  though  in  poor  and  humblo  guise, 
Thou  liero  did'Bt  Bojourn  cottage-born, 
Yet  from  thy  g.ory  in  the  skies, 

Our  eartlily  Gold  thou  wilt  not  scorn  ; 
For  Love  delights  to  bring  her  best, 
And  where  love  is,  the  ofiering  evermore  i    blest." 


f^stgss^mrwmamrmf 


? 


I 


Fiithrr  fii  ipirits  !   hear  ! 
look-  on  the  iiimosl  heart  ti>  thri-  rrrcnini ; 
Loiil;  iiiil/ii'/imiUaiii  uf  (he  burning  Imr. 


•HOW  SHALL    XVE    f;  .Vc;    r:;-,    LORDS   SONG    :n   A     STR^NQV: 

:. AND '■•-'David. 

|HERE  are  times  when  tlie  heart  is  like  a  harp,  with  a 
broken  string?.  It  liaa  lost  its  power  of  melody  and  eono.. 
There  is  something  essential  to  its  harmony  wantinJJ'. 
Under  the  still  heavens  the  soul  can  only  kneel,  and  sigh  out  its 
griefs,  and  wait  for  a  divine  hand  to  retie  the  broken  string. 

This  is  the  experience  that  is  depicted  here.  We  are  made 
witnesses  of  a  grief,  not  loud  nor  boisterous,  but  deep  and  silent. 
Wliatis  it?  It  is  like  thatof  tlie  captive  Jew,  by  tlie  rivers  of 
Babylon,  answering  tlio  heathen's  taunting  demand  for  a  song,  by 
asking,  "How  shall  we  sing  the  Lord's  song  in  a  strange  land?" 
Here,  indeed,  we  S(^o  the  harp  hanging  by  the  cross  to  the  willows, 
thus  indicating  that  this  sacred  symbol  is  still  dear,  and  that  the 
harp,  even  though  silent,  shall,  in  its  silence,  pay  tribute  to  it,  and 
when  it  sounds  again  shall  derive  its  inspiration  from  it. 

But  it  is  significant  that  by  reason  of  the  cross,  the  growth 
of  the  wiUow  is  checked.  Its  trunk  swells  out,  bulb-like,  and  puts 
forth  feeble  shoots,  when  surmounted  by  the  cross.  Ita  proper 
weeping  form  ii  taken  from  it  by  the  power  of  the  sacred  symbol, 


J.'iS 


A    LIFE   aruDY 


nnd  loaves  it  RigniBcant  of  a  griof  that  Ih  limitod,  and  that  may  not 
luxuriuto  in  m\  unrcstrainod  iiululgonco  of  sorrow.  With  uuch  an 
euibltiiu,  Uonry  Kirk  Wiiite,  cut  off, 

"  Whllo  llfo  wan  In  Un  uprlnf}, 
And  hia  yotinx  inunc  flrHl  trjcd  her  Joyoui  wing," 

would  havo  synipathizod,  as  ho  laid  down  what  his  foeblo  hands , 
could  hold  no  longer,  oxclaiining, 

"And  muMt  tlio  imrp  of  Judah  sleep  ngalr  t 
Bhall  I  no  more  roiuilmate  tlio  lay! 

0  thou  who  visltofit  tliu  BonR  of  men, 

Thou  whodoMt  lUton  when  the  humble  pray; 
One  l.ttlo  gi>iiuo  prolong  my  mournful  day. 

1  am  a  youthful  tiuvelvr  in  the  way, 

And  thig  Hlluht  boon  would  conRccrate  to  thee, 
Ere  I  with  death  shake  handR,  and  Hmllo  that  I  am  free." 

Below  we  see  tho  instrument  which  liad  charmed  by  its  music, 
encircled  by  a  chain.  It  is  tho  hoart  which  is  symbolized — the 
heart  bound  in  the  fetters  of  guilt  or  desertion,  or  spiritual  deso- 
lation. It  cannot  sing  *' The  Lord's  song."  It  is  in  "  a  strange 
land,"  a  land  of  fears  and  sorrows,  a  land  where  sense  and  flesh 
are  still  wrestling  with  the  spirit  to  hold  it  captive.  Its  feelings 
are  seen  in  the  tears  that  fall  over  the  expressive  symbols,  bedew- 
ing the  chain  that  unites  the  manacle  to  the  scallop-shell,  the 
symbol  of  the  prisoner  with  that  of  the  pilgrim.  The  soul  feels 
that  it  participates  in  the  experience  of  both.  If  it  exclaims,  **  I 
am  a  pilgrim  and  sojourner  here,  as  all  my  fathers  were,"  it 
responds  also  to  the  declaration,  "  the  captive  exile  hasteneth  that 
he  may  be  loosed,  that  he  may  not  perish  in  the  pit." 

But  this  grief  of  the  humiliated,  sin-burdened,  half-despairitig 
soul,  though  silent  and  unmusical  to  men,  has  a  melody  to  which 
the  ear  of  heaven  will  not  be  insensible.  He  who  knoweth  our 
firame  and  remembereth  that  we  are  dust,  welcomes  the  sigh  of  the 


1 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


m 


soul  that  longg  for  tho  light  of  his  countonancn,  and  those  groan- 
ings  of  tho  burdeiiod  Hpirit,  divinoly  moved  to  break  its  silence, 
which  cannot  he  uttered  in  wordd.  To  that  soul,  a,  grouiouu  and 
eovenant-kooping  (Jod  will  Kuy, 

"Tukc  iIkwii  thy  lonn  nrg'ootod  horp, 

I'vo  aeon  thy  tcnri,  nnd  heard  thy  pmyer,  , 

Tho  wintur  m-aHon  ha*  b  en  iihnrp, 
But  Rprlnif  Hhull  nil  It*  wuMtrii  repair." 

**  Weeping  may  endure  for  a  night,   but  joy  cometh  in  the 
morning." 


1 


> 


••THE  POOR  OF    THIS    WOfiZCD.    RICH  nJ  FAITH.    AiiS>    HE1F,S  OF 

THE  K:Na<3:)0M.  •  '—Jo.  ■  n  He 


jjEFOHE  every  man  there  are  laid  diverse  treasures  from 
which  he  is  to  make  his  choice.  For  the  most  part,  these 
treasures  are  commingled  like  the  prophet's  figs  —  the 
good,  very  good,  and  the  bad,  very  bad.  To  him  that  hath,  shall 
be  given  more  of  the  kind  he  has,  and  what  he  has  shall  also  be- 
come more  perfect  in  its  kind.  If  evil,  it  shall  become  worst,  if 
good,  it  shall  b'^come  best. 

Here  we  see  two  youths,  on  the  desert  face  of  the  earth,  gath- 
ering up  and  selecting  from  the  treasures  they  can  Ifiy  hold  of,  the 
things  in  which  they  find  delight.  Neither  wants  all  that  he  can 
gather,  and  hence  each  assorts  and  jireserves  the  things  to  which 
he  gives  the  preference. 

One  is  seen  on  the  right,  with  a  tray  that  will  hold  safely  all 
that  is  put  into  it.  Already  it  holds  a  pair  of  scales — the  scales  of 
a  divinely-imparted  wisdom,  in  whiijh  all  things  on  earth  may  be 


lOZ 


/I    LIFTS    STUDY. 


truly  weighed,  and  beside  those,  a  Bible,  and  the  two  tables  of  tho 
law.  These  are  the  most  precious  treasures,  an  inhoritanoe  of 
themselves.  The  Bible  is  a  treasure-house  of  counsels  and  proin- 
isos,  and  the  two  tables  of  the  law  serve  to  chart  the  pilgrim's  way 
to  heaven,  and  warn  him  of  every  false  path,  every  line  of  trans- 
gression. But  this  youth  rejects  and  casts  to  the  flames,  which  ho 
has  kindled,  all  that  is  worthless  and  pernicious,  and  we  see  borno 
aloft,  visible  amid  volumes  of  smoke,  half-consumed  cards,  feathers, 
and  masks,  the  toys  and  trifles  by  wliich  human  hearts  are  deluded, 
and  robbed  of  their  heavenly  birthright. 

The  other  youth  has  a  sieve,  instead  of  a  tray.  He  has 
scraped  up  together  the  wheat  and  the  chaff.  But  the  wheat  he 
allows  to  fall  neglected  and  contemned  to  the  earth,  while  he  care- 
fully saves  the  chaff  in  his  sieve.  This  chaff  is  made  up  of  cards 
and  dice,  and  the  amusing  toys  and  trifles  of  a  mere  worldling,  and 
when  the  scales,  the  tables  of  the  law,  and  the  Bible  will  not  go 
through  the  sieve,  he  gathtiis  them  up,  throws  them  down,  and  al- 
lows them  to  lie  neglected  at  his  feet. 

Above  the  victim,  behind  an  ornamented  railing,  at  one  end 
of  which  the  symbol  of  the  bat,  and  at  the  other  end  that  of  the 
dove,  wo  see  the  world  represented.  On  one  side  of  it,  there 
branches  forth  a  stem,  supporting  beautiful  loaves,  and  flowers, 
and  buds ;  on  the  other  is  soon  a  stem  which  branches  forth  into 
limbs,  with  a  single  leaf  or  flower,  and  armed  only  with  naked 
thorns. 

On  the  right  is  a  full-blown  rose,  upon  which  two  symboUc 
figures  have  aUghted.  One  is  the  butterfly,  fresh  from  its  chrysalis 
symbol  of  immortality,  and  on  its  wings  is  written  Vitaf  "  life ;"  the 
other  is  the  wasp,  producing  no  honey,  and  armed  only  with  a 
sting,  on  the  body  of  which,  wo  read  the  word  Mors,  "Death." 
The  symbol  of  life,  inscribed  Vita,  is  nearest  to  tho  youth  who  has 
flung  trifles  to  the  flames,  and  preserved  his  sacred  treasures. 


fi   LIFK    i^'l'UDY 


lot 


On  the  left,  wo  also  mcot  with  two  fiymbols,  one  a  hinnan 
heart,  fiiruished  with  winjrs— "the  wings  of  faith  and  love;  "  and 
the  other  a  death's  head,  but  each  resting  in  a  vase  which  supp.rts 
it.  The  death's  head  is  appropriately  ncnirest  to  the  youth  Avith  tlie 
sieve,  and  bears  the  inscription,  Malum,  "Evil,"  wliile  on  tlie 
winged  htnirt  wo  read  the  word  tliat  expresses  its  portion,  Bonum, 
,  or  "  the  good  "  part  that  sliall  n<n-er  be  taken  away. 

Between  the  two  parties  thus  represented,  lies  the  clioice 
which  nuin  is  called  upon  to  make.  Hie  pessima,  hie  optima,  serrate 
"This  one  preserves  the  worst ;  tliis  one  the  best  things."  It  is  so 
in  human  experience.  He  wlio  weighs  all  things,  in  the  scales  of 
truth,  who  fashions  his  life  by  tlie  tables  of  the  law,  and  accounts 
the  Bible  his  charter  of  hope  and  title  deed,  to  an  everlasting  inher- 
itance, and  can  call  these  his  own,  is  rich  in  tlie  loss  of  all  else,  and 
will  still  be  rich,  when  these  are  consumed  in  the  flame.  On  the 
other  hand,  he  whose  false  discrimination  leads  him  to  use  a  sieve, 
sifting  out  tlie  wheat,  and  retaining  worldly  toys,  of  the  nature  of 
chaff,  while  the  Bible  and  scales,  that  will  not  pass  through  hw 
sieve,  are  gathered  up  and  cast  away,  is  poor  indeed — the  lord  and 
owner  of  chaff,  but  bankrupt  for  eternity. 


Il     


s 


r>j 


^ 


^ 


■■MEN  LovE<D  (Darkness  rather  than l:ght.  because  thei^, 

CDES<DS    were    evil  ■■—Johr. 

jIOE  Carnal  Pleasure,  there  will  come  a  clay  of  retribution, 
when  it  will  assume  its  true  form,  and  anticijiato  with  hor- 
ror its  aiiproaching  doom.  In  this  picture,  that  day  is 
already  represented  as  having  arrived.  Cupid  is  no  longer  tho  gay 
god  of  love  and  mirth,  plotting  his  mischief  for  others,  but  anxious 
for  himself,  and  exclainung,  Venturum  exhorrcsco  diem,  "  I  shudder  at 
the  day  that  is  coming." 

He  is  80  transformed  from  his  former  self,  that  we  scarcely 
recognize  him.  His  real  nature  now  takes  its  proper  form.  With 
owl's  eyes  and  beak,  and"  a  bat's  head  and  Af*-inj;s,  he  is  seen  to  be  a 
foul  creature  of  night  and  darkness.  One  hand  is  lifted  to  liis 
head  in  terror,  and  the  other  is  outstretched,  as  if  to  ward  olf  tlie 
comin""  vengeance.  A  lurid  gloom  settles  over  the  world,  for  the 
sun  above,  with  a  human  face  pictured  upon  it,  as  if  it  was  an  in- 
telligent agent  of  retribution,  is  shorn  of  its  beams,  and  seems  to 
look  forth  in  wrath,  while  the  whip,  ^nth  scorpion  lash,  is  ready  for 
the  hand  of  vengeance,  and  the  torch  tliat  bhall  light  up  tho  final 
conflagration,  is  ready  to  be  applied. 

The  world  has  no  longer  a  hope  of  redemption.  Its  cross  has 
fallen  off.  The  aged  tree,  with  its  leafless  limbs  and  hollow  trunk, 
gives  signs  of  ripening  desolation,  and  is  the  only  thing  beside  the 
feeble  toad-stools  which  thickly  strew  tho  ground,  that  can  offer  a 
shelter  to  the  affrighted  criminal.  He  would  fain  call  upon  the 
rocks  and  the  mountains  to  hide  him,  but  that  is  vain,  and  he  can- 
not crowd  himself  for  shelter  into  tlie  hollow  globe.     A  solitary 


zae 


jtf     LIPE    STUDY 


II    ' 


Irog,  grasping  a  fragniout  of  the  dissolving  world,  looka  up  boldly 
und  seems  to  enjoy  the  wretched  pUght  of  his  ancient,  but  now 
iKiWorless,  and  trembhugfoe,  while  a  sorpeut,  crawling  forth  lr«jm  his 
lurking-place,  hisses  from  his  mouth  the  venom  of  the  primeval  curse. 
The  scene  beneath  is  scarcely  less  signihcant.  There  is  the 
strung  bow,  and  there  tlie  full  quiver,  ready  ior  the  hand  of  ven- 
geance, and  one  of  the  latter  is  winding  forth  the  servient  that 
grasps  in  his  devouring  jaws  the  wing  of  a  bird,  from  which  the 
feathers  are  loosely  flying.  Thus  the  sure  fate  of  guilt  is  already 
foreshadowed. 

The  lesson  is  significant.  Carnal  Pleasiure  assumes,  at  first, 
a  winning  fonn.  It  is  a  cupid,  with  angel  wings.  It  is  si»ortive 
and  mirthful,  and  full  of  mischief.  Buc  its  asaimied  furm  is  only 
transient.  By  and  by,  trutli  will  assert  its  suprematy.  The  day 
of  retribution  will  draw  iu>ar.  Vice  will  be  reduced  to  its  native 
hideousness,  and  outraged  nature  shall  bynipatldze  with  this  right- 
eous transformation.  The  sun  shall  grow  dim.  Nauaetjus  erea- 
ttires,  and  venomous  reptiles  shall  come  furtli,  exulting  in  the 
gathering  darkness.  Every  refuge  of  guilt  shall  fail.  The  decayed 
oak  and  the  feeble  toad-stools  shall  be  symbols  of  the  vanity  of 
all  things,  to  which  it  can  resort  for  shelter. 

How  can  human  guilt  and  folly  confront  such  a  terrible  eon- 
summation  ?  They  shall  seek  to  hide  tliemselves  in  shame  and 
horror.  The  brief  period  of  their  roveUngs  is  over,  and  can  never 
return.  The  scorpion  lash  is  ready  for  them.  The  torch  of  ven- 
geance is  Ughted,  and  only  waits  to  be  applied.  Now  are  tliey 
filled  with  shuddering.  They  know  that  the  day  of  vengeance  is 
close  at  hand. 

Thus  it  is  with  Carnal  Pleasure.  Its  day  of  exultation  is  briel^ 
and  its  retribution  is  sure.  All  its  former  charms  must  give  platxj 
to  its  native  hideousness — to  owl's  eyes,  and  bat's  wings* — till  those, 
who  idolized  it  once,  start  back  from  its  presence  with  horror. 


.^ 


«*»^r- 


Jf  tears  rnutd  pay  my  debt, 
My  ryes  n-ouhl /ouniaina  be. 


WEEFTNO  MA  >'  E^!^')URE!  FOR  A    NIGHT,  BUT  JOY  COMF.TH  IN  THE 

jaohn::;i}  ■■—Oai-id. 

j]HAT  strange  storioa  mmo  of  iho  old  navigators  had  to  tell 
of  their  hard  e.\perienrt>.  By  currents,  tempests,  rocks, 
and  shoals,  they  were  threatened  with  wreck,  xnd  eome- 
times  despaired  of  life.  And  when  tliey  reached  the  peaceful  port, 
and  returned  to  their  own  dwellings,  how  breathlessly  «"juld  their 
Mends  listen  to  the  account  of  their  hair-breadth  escapes  !  What 
a  story  would  they  have  to  tell,  who  parting  in  the  storm  from  that 
old  Christian  hero  of  the  sea,  8ir  Humphrey  Gilbert,  heard  Ids  last 
words,  "It  is  as  near  to  heaven  by  sea,  as  it  is  by  laud." 

"But,  when,  after  the  voyage  of  life,  the  soul,  safe  in  the  port 
of  eternal  peace,  shall  relate  its  exporienco,  how  much  more  vind 
and  startling,  perhaps,  will  be  the  incidents  that  have  marked  its 
progress  and  its  triumph!  It  has  passed  through  "the  great 
waters."  It  has  been  bufifeted  by  the  tempests.  It  has  wept  and 
sighed,  and  prayed,  till  through  the  rifted  clouds,  the  star  of  Beth- 
lehem has  shone  forth. 

Here  we  see  the  struggUng  soul  almost  overwhelmed,  while 
the  fierce  waves  rago  around  it,  and  lifting  its  hands  in  supplica- 


'f 


2?0 


A  l:fe  study 


: 


1 


tion  to  heaven,  while  tears  of  anguish  stoal  down  its  cheeks.  Over 
its  heud,  the  lightninj^  slioots  its  blazing  linos  on  the  thick  dark- 
ness, and  lights  up  wiih  \U  bla/o  tlio  edges  of  the  frowning  clouds. 
The  world  itself  is  tossed  by  the  waves,  and  floats  unanchored  ut 
the  n»eny  of  the  stomi. 

No  wonder  the  Boul  is  troubled,  for  there  is  no  tro\iblo  like 
that  which  it  feols,  when  the  foundations  of  its  hope  are  shaken, 
and  the  solid  globe  seems  to  its  view,  tossed  like  u  cockle-shell.  It 
may  be  that  to  the  outward  eye  all  is  calm  and  still.  It  may  bo 
that  the  winds,  that  wave  the  harvest-tiolds,  only  whisper.  But  the 
soul  is  its  own  world,  and  its  inward  depths  are  stirred,  and  the 
storm  of  temptation,  or  ti'emulous  fear,  or  despairing  anxiety  rages 
within.  Its  lioiie  is  clouded ;  its  faith  is  weak ;  its  helper  seems 
far  away,  and  the  liorce  billows  have  gone  over  it,  again  and  again. 
It  weeps,  but  it  cannot  weep  enough.  Looking  above,  we  see 
what  it  desires — eyes,  that  shall  be  great  fountains  of  tears,  falling 
in  drops,  and  pouring  in  floods,  while  the  mournful  cypress  sym- 
bolizos  a  deadly  l«)ss  of  peace,  and  a  kind  of  funereal  awe. 

The  scene  beneath  re-enforces  this  impression.  The  heart  is 
seen,  in  sjanpathy  with  the  eyes,  pouring  forth  streams  of  tears, 
while  nature  above,  and  the  world  beneath,  the  fountains  of  the 
firmament,  and  even  the  monsters  of  the  deep,  each  bearing  or 
sharing  the  burden  of  a  cross-surmounted  world,  add  their  tribute 
of  sympathizing  sorrow  to  the  tearful  grief  of  one  who  exclaims, 
*'  Oh,  that  my  head  were  waters,  and  mine  eyes  a  fountain  of  tears, 
that  I  might  weep  day  and  night." 

But  such  grief  as  this  is  not  the  grief  of  absolute  and  blank 
despair.  It  is  that  of  the  broken  and  contrite  heart,  and  such  a 
heart  God  will  never  despise.  In  the  midst  of  the  tempest,  he  is 
still  near,  and  ere  long  the  soul  sees  One  coming  to  its  help,  walk- 
ing, perhaps,  on  the  waters,  or  hushing  the  storm  by  his  word. 
Dying  hope  revives.     Some  precious  promise  flashes  its  beam  of 


A  l:ff.  gtudy 


I- 1 


liKht  out  of  the  durkonod  sky.     Tho  word  of  Johovah  i.s  a  rock 
amid  the  billowa. 

"  Paint,  and  Hlnklng  on  my  niad, 
Still  I  ollnit  to  thuu,  my  Uoi) ; 
B  ■iidlnn  'ncutii  n  wclglitof  wo«hi, 
llaraBRod  by  a  tliousaiid  foo»; 
Hope  Btlll  clildoB  my  rlslna  fcarit, 
JoyH  still  mlntflu  with  my  teura. 

"On  thy  word  I  take  my  aland; 
All  my  tImcH  are  In  thy  hand; 
Makf  thy  faco  upon  me  HhInu, 
Take  mo  'nuath  thv  winL'H  divine ; 
Lord  I  thy  grace  In  ull  my  truit, 
8ivu,  O,  cave  ray  trembling  diwU" 


i| 


/  / 


The  blin  wf/ahrli/  trrk  u  nnvr    iiwi- 

Thal  witick  ran  bleu  wr  «rc  moit  apt  (o  nAiin. 


^sScti^t^^ 


r 


"  AN^  THE  STRONG  CHALL   BE   AH  TOW.    AN'D   THE  MAKER  OF  J  r 

AS  A  SPARK     -raaiah 

|HE  discipline  of  human  life  on  eartii  has  a  deeper  design 
than  simply  to  inflict  pain,  or  impose  hardships.  It 
wounds  the  "carnal  mind "  that  it  may  save  the  soul,  h 
dashes  down  the  dragon  of  our  idolatry,  that  we  may  see  its 
worthlessnoss,  and  look  above.  What  seems  our  foe,  is,  milly,  in 
many  instances,  the  angt'l  of  our  chastisement. 

Here  we  see  in  the  background  the  enchanting  picture  of 
paradise.     Ky  the  gate  wiiich  leads  to  it  is  the  porter's  lodge,  and 
beyond  it  are  soon  the  beauty  and  foliage  of  an  Eden.     Yet,  not 
content  with  a  home  among  them,  inviting  him  to  their  enjoyment, 
man  chooses  the  world  for  his  portion,  and  is  engaged  in  bearing  it 
off,  as  his  own  pecuUar  treasure.     As  he  first  left  the  sacred  con- 
fines, a  shower  of  darts  overtook  him,  and  these  are  left  with  th.nr 
points  in  the  earth,  while  the  other  points  project  in  the  direction 
from  which  they  were  thrown.   From  this  shower,  man  has  escaped, 
bearing  the  world  with  him,  and  confident  that  he  eaa  at  length 


;-/ 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


place  his  prize  in  some  eufo  and  socuro  place.     But  around  him 
Btill  fly  the  arrows,  toacliing  him  the  Uvsson, 

Cosliiin  non  nnlmum  mutant  qui  t  mix  miiro  curnint.  * 

Still  ho  is  exposed  to  the  vicissitudes  of  life,  the  discipUne  of  a 
loving  and  faithful  Providence.  The  angel  form  is  seen  hurUng 
darts,  darts  that  perhaps  wound,  but  wound  in  mercy,  and  are 
designed  to  show  tliut  on  earth,  oven  with  the  world  in  possession, 
there  is  no  condition  of  unalloyed  pleasure. 

But  Post  vti/nera  daemon,  "After  wounds  the  demon."  Alter  all 
the  chastisements  of  mercy  have  failed  of  their  elfect,  then  comes 
an  aiTow  from  a  different  quarter,  and  hurled  by  no  friendly  hand. 
Wo  do  not  see  the  source  from  which  it  comes,  but  wo  know  from 
its  direction  that  it  is  hurled  with  malicious  as  well  as  accurate 
aim.  It  smites  its  victim  in  the  forehead,  and  brings  him  to  the 
earth,  and  forces  liim  to  rcdeaso  the  world  that  he  had  held  as  a 
treasure  in  his  grasp.  What  that  arrow  is,  is  intimated  by  the  fact 
that  it  smites  the  forehead,  the  seat  of  intellect.  It  is  the  arrow 
of  doubt,  or  intellectual  confusion,  that  makes  the  very  globe 
worthless  to  its  possessor.  Tho  demon  accomplishi;s,  by  divine 
permission,  what  disciplinary  and  loving  chastisement  had  failed  to 
do.  Man  sinks  confoundtjd  to  tho  earth,  au-^  wretched,  even  wliile 
he  calls  tho  world  his  own. 

Above,  Ave  see  a  skull,  on  such  a  sliield,  as  was  wont  of  old,  to 
bear  back  tho  remains  of  its  heroic  possessor,  who  had  fallen  on 
the  field  of  battle.  Ihit  on  the  skull,  as  if  to  vindicate  the 
superior  power  of  the  omoticmal  to  that  of  the  intellectual  nature, 
wo  see  a  heart  pierced  by  an  arrow,  and  a  serpent  that  has  crawled 
forth  from  tho  skull  drinking  from  the  wound.  It  is  thus  that  the 
intellect,  wounded  by  the  demon's  arrow,  sends  forth  the  serpc  nt 
of  doubt,  to  drink  tho  life-blood  of  the  heart. 

The  symbols  below  indicate  tho  vanity  of  earthly  possessions. 
There   is  tho   dark   circle  which  contains  tho  globe ;    but,   sadly 

•  They  change  thulr  sky,  not  thplrraiml,  who  run  beyond  tho  Ma, 


A    LIFE    STC/iDr.  ,„,. 

1   o 

enough,  its  rodoeming  cro88  projects  beyond  the  circle,  to  which  the 
carnal  miud  is  limited.  There  is  the  quiver,  emptj-ing  it.,elf  of 
arrows,  and  indicating  the  resourceless  condition  of  niuu  left  to 
himself.  There  is  the  flickering  taper,  a  part  of  the  outline  (,f 
which  is  the  string  of  a  broken  bow,  in  which  wo  see  the  weakness 
and  blindness  of  human  reason  and  wisdom  set  forth.  And  there, 
too,  is  tlie  flower  which  symboUzes  the  fleeting,  withering  nature 
of  all  earthly  good. 

AU  these  objects,  too,  are  beheld  with  an  Eden  in  the  back- 
ground, but  an  Eden  that  the  folly  of  man  leads  him  to  scorn.  He 
turr  s  from  it  to  grasp  n  cheating  treasure,  but  finds  too  late  that  it 
is  only  to  fall  under  wounds  and  tlio  demon's  stroke,  and  through 
his  wounded  intellect,  to  have  the  seri)ent  doubt  crawl  forth  to  feed 
on  Lia  bleeding  heart. 


li 


., 


^ 


:l^ 


'•limb  ujnvaril,  laden  wilk  a  globe, 
Thinr  arms  nichained  to  grasj,  it 

Hut  still  Oemar^,  l,st  serpents  share 
Thy  proud  attempt  to  clasp  it. 


L.ON.  AN0  A  BEAR  MET  H:,t  ^  CSi  XVENT  INTO  TFE  ^OU^^    ^""o 
LEANE<X)n:3HAN<D0NT!iB  WALL.  AND    A    CERPE!:T     " 
BIT  IT.'-Amoa. 

MONO  tlie  things  that  will  novor  say--'  It  is  enough,"  wo 
must  find  a  place  for  the  soul  of  man  fooding  on  earthlv 
things.     The  more   it  has,  the  more  it  wants.     It    is  nJt 
quantity  that  can    satisfy  it.  though  it    should  vie   with  Alexander 
m    the  success  of  its  ambitions.     Nay,  its   very  greed  may  expose 
It  to  the  gravest  dangers.     High  place  only  makes  him  who  roaohe. 
It,  a  more  conspicuous  mark  for  the  fatal  arrows  of  earthlv  viri^^itudes 
Large  undertakings  only  expose  to    greater  hazards,  and  vet  to  the 
ohmbing  spirit  "Alps  on  Alps  arise,"  and  it  never  can 'reach  the 
coveted  summit,  or  if  it  does,  like    Bruce,  discovering  what  he  sup- 
posed the  fountains  of  the  Nile,  it  sinks  exhausted  and  ahnos.  spir- 
itless in  the  triumph  that  seems  the  collapse  of  effort. 

Here  we  see  human  ambition  under  the  figure  of  a  fond  vouth 
with  angel  capabiHties,  grasping  the  globe,  and  attempting  t'o  bea^ 


1"3 


A   l:fs  study 


it  up  tlio  steep  declivity.  Absorbed  in  tlie  effort  that  taxes  all  his 
strength,  ho  sees  not  that  a  serpent  has  coiled  itself  about  the  globe, 
from  which  the  cross  has  fallen  oiT,  and  that  its  deadly  fangs  au 
already  f'^arfuUy  near  to  his  own  hand.  It  is  the  serpent  of  dis- 
appointed effort,  or  of  stinging  guilt,  that  is  wont  to  coil  itsi'lf  around 
all  unlawful  or  extravagant  projects.  It  is  true,  tho  youth  has 
clasped  the  globe,  but  what  will  he  do  with  it  at  last?  Tho  ser- 
pent's fang  will  linally  forco  him  to  abandt)nit,  and  ho  will  fall  tho 
victim  of  his  own  folly.  But  even  if  that  experience  were  spared 
him,  how  would  he  be  compelled  at  length,  cverwearied  with  his 
oiFort,  to  desist  fi-om  his  undertaking,  and  fling  down  a  world  that 
becomes  a  crushing  burden,  instead  of  a  prized  treasure,  in  soul- 
withering  disgust.  Tho  globe  itself  will  never  satisfy.  It  only  af- 
fords a  resting  place  for  tho  dt>a(lly  serpent. 

Glancing  above,  wo  see  a  winged  world  on  which  rests  across- 
imprinted  heart.  Let  those  wings  be  spread,  as  soon  they  may  be, 
and  tlu^y  will  bear  the  heart  a^ay  with  them.  It  is  thus  that  tho 
Sold  of  man  is  captured  by  sense,  and  becomes  the  helpless  depen- 
dent of  the  world. 

If  we  turn  to  the  symbol  beneath,  we  see  a  crescent  moon,  that 
seems  to  ask  from  tho  sun  more  light.  Its  cry  is  still  "  give,  give," 
Donee  totum  expleat  orhenK  "  till  it  shall  fill  its  entire  orb."  What  it 
asks  is  given.  The  whole  orb  is  filled  with  tho  gift  of  solar  light. 
But  what  then  ?  Boos  it  continue  ?  No !  It  waxes  oidy  to  wane. 
It  gains  only  to  lose.     It  cannot  retain  what  it  has  received. 

Even  so  it  is  with  the  soul's  avaricious  or  aml)iti()ns  cravings. 
They  are  ever  crying  to  all  things  earthly,  ''give,"  "give."  But 
what  is  given  does  not  satisfy;  more  is  demanded,  more  is  sought, 
with  wearying  and  exhausting  toil.  But  when  tho  prize  is  secured, 
when  the  orb  is  filled,  what  then?  "The  full  soul  loatheththe 
honey  comb."  It  contemns  its  very  gains.  Perhaps  a  serpent  has 
coiled  itself  around  what  it  has  grasped.     Perhaps  amid  its  possess- 


A   l:x''e  csudy. 


j'p 


ions  there  lurlcg  eome  stingring  tluai-lu,  some  poisonous,  deadly  con- 
Bciousness  ul  guilt  iucune.l,  alms  perverted,  privileges  abuJed,  or 
life  misspent.  Then  it  is  that  the  tre^tsure  becomes  a  bunl..n 
Wealth  is  only  a  heap  of  cares.  Tiled  up  honors  are  only  piled  up 
rubbish,  and  the  crown,  that  rests  upon  the  victor's  brow.^is  a  crown 
that  is  set  with  thorns,  and  by  the  weight  of  its  jewels,  only  presses 
deeper  into  the  living  flesh,  their  bloody  torturing  stings. 

Not  hero  and  there  only  has  one  sohtary  experimenter  found 
this  so.  The  experience  even  of  a  Soh,mon  ha.  some  features  that 
parallel  it  with  an  Alexander's.  Thousands  have  exclaimed  at  last, 
even  while  they  planted  their  feet  on  the  topmost  round  of  ambi- 
tion's ladder.     "Vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit." 

"  Tiie  woiM  f:in  never  give 
Tliu  liiiss  for  which  wc  »<ii{h.'- 

The  soul  that  was  made  to  drink  from  the  living  fountains  will 
only  tm-ture  itself  by  glutting  its  thii-st  Irom  the  brackish,  .laguani 
pools  of  earthly  felicity. 


i 


L 


i 


''^S^QiCffe? 


^ 

k 


Srn  iV  thr  task  that  wnils  tlirr, 
f>ail  chilU  of  Utut ;  thine  arm 

Must  rest  on  one  above  thet, 
That  shitUisJrom  every  harm. 


MY  STRENGTH  JS  MADE  PERFECT  IN  WE/lKNEas    -Pm.: 

jNE  of  the  most  significant  lessons  of  the  christian  conscious- 
ness is  the  strango  feebleness  of  sanctified  desire.     Wliilo 
the  soul  was  absorbed  in  tho  world,  it  exulted  in  its  energy 
and  its  strength.     Nothing  was  too  arduous  for  it  to  venture  upon, 
and  with  unwavering  confidence  in  thoon-rgy  of  its  own  resolves,' 
It  f.>lt  that  it  had  only  to  enter  upon  the  christian  course,  to  run  it 
with  equal  swiftness  and  energy,  and  thus  reproach  tho  tardy  steps 
of  tlioso  whoso  lack  of  energy  it   had  been  wont  to  criticise     'But 
when  It  had  really  entered  upon  that   course,  it  found  that  it  had 
grossly  exaggerated  the  sufiiciency  of  its  natural  powers.     These— 
in  the  world— were  in  a  congejiial  and  appropriate  sphere,  and  were 
braced  by  tho  very  air  of  worldliness  to  worldly  endeavor. 

But  passing  into  another,  and  a  new  sphere—like  one  ascend- 
ing from  tho  valleys  to  the  rarified  air  on  the  mountain-top,  that 
can  scarce  support  life-it  found  that  it  had  miscalculated  its  own 
strength.  It  was  a  man  before,  but  it  became  as  a  child  now.  It 
had  then  reUed  upon  itself  alone,  but  now,  in  conscious  helplessness, 
it  came  to  feel  the  need  of  an  ever  present  almighty  helper. 

A  portion  of  this  experience  is  set  forth  in  tho  emblem.  The 
strong  man  has  become  as  a  little  child  that  cannot  even  stand 
alone.  Tlie  world  indeed  is  a  hollow  thing  to  it,  but  lacking  yet 
that  faith  in  its  full  strength,  which  is  ccmtent  to  throw  itself  on  the 
unseen  arm  of  God,  it  finds  in  tho  hoUow  world,  vith  its  meagre 


ail 

111 


'i 


lea 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


frame,  a  seeming  temporary  support,  with  one  hand  to  grasp  this 
frame,  while  in  the  other  it  holds  a  cross — not  in  its  naked  simplic- 
ity, but  tricked  out  with  ornomuntul  appendages,  and  surmounted 
by  an  ornamented  globe,  from  which  gay  streamers  float.  No  won- 
der feeble  progress  is  made,  and  that  the  little  wheels  that  support 
both  the  world-frame  and  its  occupant,  seem  designed  rather  to  bo 
stationary  than  to  bear  their  load  along.  As  the  eye  takes  in  the 
significance  of  the  Avhole  scene,  we  seem  to  hoar  a  voice  from  it  — 

"  Look— how  wo  grovel  lii-ro  bulow, 
Fond  of  thc'Mo  triflini;  toyB ; 
Our  souls  can  neither  fly  nor  go, 
To  reach  etemal  Joys." 

What  is  needed  is  a  divine  breath  to  animate  the  soul,  to  emancipate 
it  from  all  dependence  upon  sense,  and  aid  it  to  ily  upon  its  hea- 
venward way. 

Contrasted  with  its  present  progress  is  its  former  activity. 
Then — as  we  see  above — the  world  had  wings.  The  worldly  en- 
ergy was  prompt,  active,  flew,  soared.  It  could  make  its  way  at 
will.  It  moved  in  its  own  sphere,  dependent  only  upon  itself,  and 
sufficient  in  itself.  But  now  all  this  is  changed.  For  the  pursuit 
of  the  world  the  heart  was  zealous,  but  whon  its  (umrse  is  changed, 
and  another  goal  is  held  out,  it  moves  but  with  tardy  step. 

What  is  needed  is,  that  the  moss  grown  heart  sliould  shake 
itself  loose  from  all  incimibrance,  that  every  feathery,  fern-like  at- 
tachment should  be  cast  off.  Let  it  not  yield  to  the  spell  of  ease  or 
indolence,  or  be  buried  in  a  bed  formed  of  its  own  fungi.  It  needs 
help  from  above.     Its  prayer  should  be : 

"  Lord  I  send  a  beam  of  light  divine, 

To  guide  our  upward  aim  ; 
With  one  icvlving  touch  of  thine, 

Our  languid  hearts  inflame. 
Oh  I  then  on  faith's  subiimest  wing, 

Our  ardent  hope  shall  rise,  ■ 

To  those  bright  scenes  where  pleasure*  spring 

Unclouded  in  the  skies." 


w 


i 


6r 


y 


^ 


Atniift    liiiniiiil.     Onf  i»  nnir  - 
llit/iirm  viisfrn  -vhitsf  rnice  I  lirai . 
Hi  lours,  with  vtiiair  »wfel,  invitf 
My  tout  in  him  to  take  deliyht. 


k 


•■  \'.':iot4  rnr  ha  v  -j  i  ;:■:::■:::,  y/.: ,,_,  ;■■,:  _  .  „ 
jEKK  is  8r(«n  a  youth  of  lovely  aspect,  with  a  noatnoss  of 
droHs,  i»)(Ucativo  of  a  woll-ordoml  spirit,  lin;?.'riiijr  uiuid 
sconos  of  vn-duro  aiul  boiuity,  surveying  tli."?a  tliun^ht- 
fully,  and  yot  with  a  ro.l,  from  which  Htmiincrs  j?aily  wave,  for  a 
stalf,  and  a  watcr-tlask  by  his  bi.lo,  evi(h.iifly  ft-.liufr  that  ho  is  not 
thoro  to  linger,  but  lias  tho  journ(>y  and  the  task  of  lilo  boforo  him. 
Meditatively,  doea  ho  turn  toward  some  invi.sihlo  object,  extending 
toward  it  his  outstretched  hand,  as  though  somo  othta-  hand  were 
to  grasp  liis,  and  as  though  his  happiness  could  not  bo  complete 
without  it. 

What  ia  it  that  ho  wants  ?  What  is  it  that  is  necessary  to 
cheer  his  solitude,  and  enrich  and  guide  his  meditative  thouglits  V 
If  we  look  al)()ve,  we  road  tho  symbolic  answer.  Wo  B(>o  tho  doves 
perched  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  one  giving  and  tho  other  receiving 
food.  Tho  lesson  is  plain.  If  it  is  blessed  to  give,  it  is  more 
blessed  to  receive.  That  human  life,  which  under  tho  everlasting 
influence  of  the  cross,  combhies  with  external  privih>ge  and  medi- 
tative joy,  tho  self-denial  of  the  giver,  feeding  other  lives  by  its 
own  effort  or  sacrifice,  is  tho  true  life— tho  ono  that  shall  look  up 
and  see  over  it,  not  only  the  cross,  but  tho  cross  enriched  by  tho 
symbol  of  the  life  immortal. 

Below,  the  significance  of  such  an  alliance  is  made  more  com- 
plete.    There  wo  see  a  world  and  a  heart  joining  hands,  and  sur- 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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■a   LIFE 


O  -i    w  J-^  / 


roumlod  on  every  side  with  true  lover's  knots.  On  the  world  we 
read  Martha,  and  on  the  heart  we  read  Mary,  and  we  see  at  a 
glance  that  one  represents  the  toil  and  care  of  common  daily  and 
earthly  duties,  8r.ch  as  belong  to  a  place  here  in  this  world,  and 
the  other  the  cro  :.s-sauctified  desires  and  longings  of  the  heart — 
in  other  words — that  contemplation, 

"  Whoso  power  is  Buch  that  whom  she  lifts  from  earth, 
She  maliCH  familiar  with  a  world  unseen, 
And  shows  liim  glories  yet  to  bo  revealed." 

It  is  this  junction  of  homely  duty  with  sanctified  affection,  of 
earthly  toil,  with  heavenward  aspirations,  that  harmonise  the  ele- 
ments of  the  soul,  and  make  it  the  home  of  those  two  sister  graces, 
with  whom  Jesus  will  love  to  abide.  It  is  essential  that  the  two 
should  abide  together.  Neither  is  complete  without  the  other. 
One  is  seen  amid  the  fairest  bloom,  and  in  an  earthly  Eden,  incom- 
plete in  itself,  and  stretching  out  its  hand  to  the  other.  It  is  not 
enough  to  meditate  alone,  even  on  the  beet  of  objects.  With  medi- 
tation there  should  be  a  conjoined  activity  and  usefulness.  It  is 
not  enough  that  one  should  toil,  and  be  busied,  industriously  and 
energetically,  in  earthly  tasks  and  duties.  "  While  I  was  musing," 
says  the  psalmist,  **  the  fire  burned;  then  spake  I  with  my  tongue." 
And  again,  "I  believed,  therefore,  have  I  spoken."  1'  ia  medita- 
tion that  feeds  the  soul.  But  that  which  receives,  and  is  fed, 
should  also  bestow,  and  feed  others.  A  hermit's  life — the  luxury 
of  solitary,  and  yet  unproductive  thought — does  not  meet  the  de- 
mand of  duty,  or  the  demand  of  our  own  conscious  being.  It  is 
one-sided,  and  incomplete.  And  yet  the  continuous  activity  of  the 
soul  in  common  duties  can  only  be  sustained,  by  being  fed  with  the 
food  of  meditative  thought.  Without  this,  it  would  be  like  a 
river,  deprived  of  .the  springs  that  fed  it.  It  would  dry  up,  and 
shrink  Avithin  the  bounds  of  its  nan-owest  channel,  till  it  flowed  no 
more,  and  only  stagnant  pools  were  left  to  mark  the  course  along 
which  it  flowed. 


■ASA   BII^D  HAaTETH  TO  THE  aUAIiK.    AIJD   KVOWETII  HOT  rUA  . 
IT  IS  FOR  H1SL:FE  ■  -Co'.omon. 


JlPPEARANCES  are  deceitful."  The  profession  and  show 
of  friendship  do  not  ne(!essarily  imply  the  reality  of  it. 
There  are  two  Latin  words  that  sound  very  much  alike ; 
they  differ  only  by  a  single  letter.  One  is  amo,  the  other  hamo ;  but 
one  means,  "I  love,"  the  other  " I  hook."  Most  opposite  affections 
may  wear  almost  the  same  guise. 

Here  wo  see  Carnal  Pleasure,  not  now  as  cupid,  using  hia  bow 
and  arrow,  but  em]iloying  his  net  to  take  a  soul  only  too  willing  to 
be  taken.  That  soul  is  seen,  in  the  form  of  a  mermaid,  seemingly 
content  with  its  capture,  and  wearing  upon  its  features  a  look  of 
acquiescence,  as  well  as  simplicity.  It  seems  to  have  no  conscious- 
ness that  it  is  encompassed  by  a  net.  It  enjoys  the  pleasure  of  be- 
ing dragged  along,  unconscious  of,  or  perhaps  indifferent  to,  what 
awaits  it,  when  it  shall  be  drawn  ashore.  It  is  only  a  too  willing 
victim  of  Carnal  Pleasure. 


'i 


% 


IPO 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


The  net  itself  has  little  worlds  for  corks  to  float  it.  Tlioy  are 
ita  ornamont  also.  Thoy  take  the  eye  of  the  soul,  and  holp  to  en- 
snare it.  Perhaps  the  pond-lilies,  that  only  grow  near  the  shore, 
are,  with  their  voluptuous  bloom  and  fragrance,  a  new  temptation  to 
allure  the  soul,  and  make  it  more  ready  to  leave  its  native  deeps 
and  submit  to  its  capture.  It  is  drawn  f  )rth  by  the  force,  or  per- 
haps violence,  of  carnal  pleasure,  to  a  new  world  and  new  scenes, 
where  trees  and  flowers,  and  grassy  banks  invite,  and  yet  a  world, 
which,  though  charming  to  the  eye,  means  death  to  that  organiza- 
tion, which  can  only  exist  in  its  native  element. 

Above  the  picture,  are  emblems  of  beauty  and  art,  in  which 
carnal  pleasure  delights.  On  the  right,  a  not  is  suspended,  in 
which  winged  hearts  have  been  taken,  and  on  the  left,  we  see  an- 
other net  which  holds  butterflies,  signifying  an  immortal  state. 

From  either  side,  a  fishing-line  descends,  and  at  the  end  of 
each,  a  fish,  gay,  and  embroidered,  as  it  were,  to  indicate  the 
character  of  those  whom  the  world  takes  by  its  bait,  has  swallowed 
the  hook.  Beneath,  we  read  the  significant  motto,  Non  amat  iste ; 
tied  hamat  amor.     "  This  fellow  does  not  love;  but  pleasure  hooks." 

It  is  a  sad  truth  that  many  a  worldly  friendship  may  be  de- 
fined as  carnal  pleasure,  capturing,  by  liook  or  net,  a  wilhng  vic- 
tim. How  admirably,  sometimes,  is  th9  net  woven !  How  nicely 
ornamented  it  is !  As  if  all  the  worlds  of  fashion,  all  the  realms 
which  the  varieties  of  human  passion  would  grasp,  were  attached 
to  it !  Many  a  one  is  engaged  in  spreading  this  net,  or  drawing  it 
in,  and  many  a  one  becomes  its  victim,  while  he  imagines  he  is 
simply  yielding  to  the  drawings  of  earthly  delight.  He  trusts  to 
friendly  professions.  He  is  lured  by  the  hope  of  enjoying  more 
in\'iting  and  pleasurable  scenes.  Instead  of  resisting,  he  turns, 
with  a  complacent  smile,  towards  his  captor,  and  seems  to  enjoy 
his  being  dragged  to  guilt,  shame,  and  death. 

It  is  under  the  form  of  alluring  pleasure,  that  souls  are  often 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


79/ 


captured  and  fataUy  betrayed.     They  swallow  the  bait,  and  know 
not  that  the  hook  h  in  their  jaws.     Even  after  they  Ixavo  greedily 
seized  it,  tlioy  are  allowed  line  to  play  with.     Within  certain  limits 
they  seem  to  enjoy  all  their  old  freedom.     But  this  is  only  for  a 
little  while.     Slowly  the  lino  is  reeled  up.     They  find  themselves 
drawn  on  irresistibly  to  their  ruin,  but  they  discover  this  only  when 
It  IS  too  late.     Beware  of  the  hooks  and  nets  of  carnal  pleasure,  is 
the  voice  of  true  wisdom.     Do  not  call  him  a  friend,  who  by  the 
spell  of  a  false  friendship  would  draw  you  to  scenes  as  false  to  the 
soul's  peace  and  life,  as  they  are  enchanting  to  the  eye  or  the 
heart.     Amo  is  the  true,  but  JIamo  is  the  false  friend.     One  will 
rebuke  in  love  ;  the  other  will  betray  with  a  kiss. 


r 


2^ 


Fnml  child  of  folly,  .inn„  Ihr  stnrni 
Will  loss  lilt/  vessrl  frail  ; 

Tlic  fail  shall  be  //,,/  viiyidimj  sheet. 
Thy  dirge  the  tcmjxsrs  waM 


A   FRW^ENT  MAN  FORESEETH    THE  EVIL. 


-So.oiv.cn 


T  is  ono  of  the  most  strikinrr  illustrations  of  human  life, 
which  sets  it  before  us  under  the  image  of  a  voyage.  It 
has  a  port  to  start  from,  and  a  jiort  to  gain,  and  danger- 
ous, perhaps  raging  seas  between,  that  mtn/  engulf  it.  No  human 
sagacity  can  infallibly  determine  the  issue,  although  the  highest  de- 
gree of  sagacity  can  assure  us  that  neglect  to  equip  or  "man  or 
guide  the  vessel  aright,  may  result  in  its  wreck. 

Here  we  see  human  wisdom,  or  rather  human  folly,  tossed 
upon  the  waves.  The  ship  in  which  it  sails  is  the  world  of  its  own 
thoughts  and  fancies,  a  globular  hull  that  seems  fitted  for  nothing 
except  to  drift,  and  drift  to  ruin.  It  has,  and  from  its  construction 
can  have,  neither  bow  nor  rudder.  Its  main-sail  is  composed  of 
the  extended  wings  of  a  huge  butterfly,  while  the  fore-sail  is  sim- 
ply a  fools-cap  attached  to  main-yard  and  bow-sprit.  The  streamers 
are  enormous  peacock's  feathers,  waving  in  the  blast,  and  indicate 
the  place  which  the  pride  of  vain  display  has  in  the  plan  of  the 


73/ 


A  LIFE  arvDY 


voyage.  Tho  only  chart  oi*  compass,  by  which  tho  voasel's  cours(»  i.-t 
to  bo  directed,  is  soea  boh)W,  in  a  huiuuii  heart  divided  oil' so  a.s  to 
indicato  all  tho  varied  points  of  tho  compass.  On  a  Btormy,  rayles.s, 
leaden  sky,  wo  road  tlio  dark  prospect  that  awaits  alike  tho  cratt 
and  tho  voyager.  The  Boa-duck  floating  amid  tho  billow.s,  IooIch  at 
him  with  sitq)rise,  or  indignation  at  his  intruding  folly,  and  ovory 
phaso  of  his  condition,  seems  to  write  him  "Fool." 

Many  a  vessel  that  loaves  the  dock  with  fair  prospects  and  a 
rich  cargo,  novor  roaches  ita  destined  port.  The  bottom  of  tho 
ocean  nmst  in  places  be  strewn  with  wrecks.  But  the  ocean  of  hu- 
man life  has  a  more  tragic  flowing  of  blasted  hopes  and  wrecked 
expectations ;  men  that  would  examine  with  tho  closest  scrutiny, 
the  character  and  capabilities  of  the  vessel,  in  which  thoy  would 
cross  the  ocean,  will  enter  upon  the  voyage  of  life,  with  less  of  plan 
and  forethought  than  they  would  employ  in  crossing  a  flooded 
marsh.  Oftentimes  their  whole  equipment  seems  made — judging 
from  that  above — with  the  sole  view  to  irremediable  and  total  dis- 
aster. Their  vessel  is  the  frail  bubble  of  their  fancies,  that  cannot 
endure  either  wind  or  wave.  Their  sails,  or  the  means  they  have 
at  C(»mmand  to  take  advantage  of  favorable  influence  to  bear  them 
along,  are  as  frail  as  a  butterfly's  wings,  or  siUy  as  a  fool's  cap. 
All  the  exhibition  which  they  make  of  their  spirit,  taste,  sympathy, 
or  aims,  is  a  peacocklike  display  of  vanity,  and  when  tho  storm 
overtakes  them — asitsui-ely  will — they  can  only  creep  down  through 
the  scuttle  of  their  fears  into  the  hold  of  their  idle  fancies,  and 
tremble  on,  with  fear  and  apprehension,  till  the  raging  tempest 
makes  the  refuge  of  their  timidity,  the  coflin  of  their  hopes. 

Even  with  the  staunchest  vessel — the  most  sober  and  well  con- 
sidered plans — the  voyage  of  life  is  full  of  danger.  A  ruddered 
vessel,  well  equipped,  with  a  sti'ong  hand  at  the  helm,  is  not  always 
safe.  Something  is  needed,  not  only  of  human  forethought,  and 
wise  provision,  but  of  divine  help.      There  is  a  mysterious  might 


A     LIFE    CTUDY. 


lot 


that  can  toaoh  thn  soul,  like  Potor,  to  wnlk  thn  billows,  Tinlmrmod. 
Wo  800  this  symbolized  ubovo,  in  tho  cniblfin  of  rcsurroctcMl  lil'o, 
tho  buttortly  sulb  on  tho  face  of  tho  turbid  soa.  To  nmko  this 
inifrht  ours,  is  tho  divino  wisdom,  by  whirh  wo  aro  insurod  against 
ovory  poril,  and  this  wisdom  is  learnodfroni  tho  charts  of  heaven^ 
and  tho  lips  of  tho  Groat  l^ilot. 

'•  MlllloiiK  Imvo  perished  on  life's  stormy  const, 
With  all  thoir  charts  on  hoard,  iiml  jioworful  iiiil, 
Kc'cauMc  their  haiiifhty  pride  diHd;.liied  to  Joarn 
The  inHtructions  of  a  pilot,  and  a  God." 


^T^^p^ 


vi 


a, 


rj 


i! 


TCS 


IV^ 


(lather  i/c  rnsrbiulu  white  yemay. 

Old  Time,  is  still  (i-Jli/intf  ; 
And  this  Slime  /Inwrr,  that  tmilei  In-itay, 

To-morroio  will  be,  ilijiiiy. 

nrirlik. 


■fiT  THE  LAST  IT  BITETH  LIKE  A  SERPENT,    ANQ   STINOETH  LIKE 

AM  A<D<:DER.''— Solomon 

.TH  even  luis  liis  dance  of  mirthfulnoss.  Wo  hiivo  here 
the  dance  of  Death.  Full  of  grijn  mirth,  feeding  his  glee- 
ful humors  on  the  strange  contrasts  of  life  and  death, 
wearing  ostentatiously  his  enormous  fool's  cap,  and  ready  to  slip  liia 
laughing  mask  over  the  hollow  sockets  nnd  grinning  jaws  that  ob- 
trude themselves  upon  our  gaze,  the  strange  figure  before  us,  is,  in 
Pope's  language  a  "vile  antithesis."  His  skeleton  legs  and  feet 
contrast  with  the  gaudy  covering  of  shoulders  nnd  chest,  wliilo  the 
fleshless  fingers,  clasp  the  mocking  picture,  that  is  to  help  on  his 
masquerade.  Before  him,  lies  a  horrid  miniature  of  himself,  with 
a  like  fool's  cap,  but  powexless  to  move.  Beliind  him,  is  an  open 
grave,  the  spade  still  resting  iu  it,  which  waits  for  a  tenant.  In 
tlie  back-ground,  is  the  ancient  cliun^h  with  its  massive  tower,  and 
tne  leafless  trees  through  which  the  winds  sigh  and  moan. 

The  setting  of  the  picture  is  in  keeping  with  it.  Symbols  of 
sportiveness  and  death,  are  grouped  together.  A  spider's  web  sug- 
gests the  artful  snares,  that  are  woven  by  death's  purveyors  and 
allies,  while  the  master  spirit  that  framed  the  web,  and  reposes 


f 


I!     I 


108 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


near  a  ghastly  skull,  is  only  himself,  a  living  death's  head  mounted 
on  legs.  To  tho  left,  a  Damocles'  sword  in  suspended  over  a  boquet 
of  flowers,  while  beneath,  at  opposite  ends  of  a  beam  poised  upon 
a  globe,  the  head  of  a  laughing,  contrasts  with  that  of  a  weeping 
pliilosopher.  The  key  to  the  meaning  of  the  whole,  is  found  in  the 
Latin  motto,  et  risu  necat,  "and  he  slays  with  a  laugh.  ' 

One  would  think  that  death,  or  the  skeleton  that  symbolizes 
him,  could  never  be  anything  but  repulsive ;  that  however  masked, 
or  robed,  the  exposure  of  a  fleshless  limb,  would'break  every  spell, 
and  leave  the  beholder  disenchanted,  to  turn  away  with  a  shudder. 
And  yet,  with  an  open  grave  behind,  a  thousand  forms  of  false 
pleasure  dance  before  the  eyes  of  men,  robed  in  part,  in  gaiety  and 
humor,  and  fascinate  them  by  their  smile,  even  while  the  skeleton 
feet  or  fingers  plainly  betray  the  cheat.  The  spectator  sees  only 
the  mask,  notes  only  the  humor  of  it,  is  taken  by  the  gracefulness 
of  the  dance,  and  is  heedless  of  the  identity  of  the  grim,  jesting 
actor. 

'Many  a  career  of  so  called  pleasure,  fully  deserves  to  be  repre- 
sented in  emblem,  like  this  same  dancing  grave-digger.  Many  an 
idolized  vice,  or  health  and  soul-destroying  habit,  is  half  a  masked 
jester,  and  half  a  marrowless,  nerveless  skeleton,  performing  its 
antics  before  a  half  dug  grave.  It  has  no  living  humanity  about  it. 
It  simply  means  fool's  cap,  and  mask,  and  trips  over  the  sod  on 
skeleton  toes.  It  puts  on  the  forms  of  mirthfulness  and  humour, 
but  is  in  fact,  a  hollow  mockery,  summoning  all  that  dance  to  its 
step,  to  fill  its  grave.  There  is  not  about  it  one  fibre  of  mercy. 
It  is  as  inexorable  as  the  King  of  terrors.  It  dances  with  its  vic- 
tim, till  it  can  put  its  long  bony  arms  around  him,  and  then  drags 
him.  down  to  the  pit  that  is  already  dug. 

Such  is  the  story  of  what  often  begins  with  a  jest,  and  ends 
with  a  shriek  of  despair — begins  with  festive  wine  and  social  mirth, 
and  ends  with  delirium  tremens,  and  the  straw  bed  of  an  alms- 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


100 


house  garret,  begins  with  a  gently  soUcited  compliance  to  join  in 
some  sport  or  game,  where  a  laugh   palsies  conscience,  and  ends  in 
a  self-reproach  that   stings  like  the   word  that  the  dying  Eandolpli 
would  have  spelled  and  written,  Memorse.     The  laugh  kills.     There 
is  no  poised  javelin,  no  loaded  musket,  no  terrible  menace,  to  excite 
affright,  or  put  one  on  his   guard.     There  is  only  a  dancer's  laugh, 
and  beneath  the  mask,  you  cannot  tell  who  the  dancer  is.     He  may 
be  known  by  a  hundred  different  names,  but  each  of  them  all  is  an 
alias  except  one,  and  that  is  Death.     Thousands  will  tremble  at  the 
word,  yet  faU  in  love  with  the   thing.     A  frown  from  it  would  ter- 
rify them,  while  this  frown  can  only  impel  to  wisdom,   and  it  is 
the  laugh  that  kills. 


I 


>^^3SS§S^^ 


Owfltnme!  jiiirc-ci/iil  Faidi,  uliilr-liamkil  Hope, 
Thuu  Uovcrint)  angei,  yirt  n-ith  golden  wings. 


■Gom  un(Dei{stanq:ieth  r:;-?  way  thereof,  an0  he  knoweth 

THE  PHAGE  THEREOF.' -Job 


ENEDICTIONS,  lavished  upon  the  elect  of  God,  have 
great  w'^alth  of  blessing.  It  is  redoenied  by  no  corrupti- 
ble things,  as  silver  and  gold,  but  by  the  precious  blood  of 
the  Lamb  of  God.  Its  resting  place  is  beneath  the  covert  of  his 
^-iugs.  It  is  "  the  heir  of  all  things,"  "  heir  of  God,  and  joint-heir 
with  Christ."  Nothing  can  harm  it.  Its  very  wounds  are  inlets 
to  the  soul  of  a  divine  wisdom.  Its  pains  and  afflictions  are  the 
discipline  of  a  father's  hand.  It  hngers  on  earth,  only  to  ripen  for 
i^lory,  and  its  toils  and  cross-bearings  are  but  sowing  the  seed,  that 
ripens  to  eternal  harvest,  till  it  shall  rest  from  its  labors,  and  its 
works  shall  follow  it. 

Here  we  see  the  flesh  and  spirit,  presenting  eacli  its  vessel  to 
receive  the  blessing  that  comes  down  in  a  beam  of  glory,  from 
heaven's  "all-beholding  eye."  Tlie  flesh,  turning  its  eyes  away, 
unable  to  endure  the  insufferable  glory,  or,  at  least,  dazzled  by  it, 
and  with  its  back  toward  the  light  holds  up  its  idol  world,  to  obtain 
the  boon.  But  the  very  attiturlo  it  assumes,  defeats  its  design,  a:id 
its  unpierced  globe  has  no  inlet,  through  which  to  recieive  the 
heavenly  gift. 


sen 


Ji  l:fe  study. 


i 


On  the  o*^aer  hand,  the  spirit,  with  the  halo  about  its  head, 
cannot  only  bear  the  glorious  Ught,  but  rejoices  in  it.  It  presents 
its  heart-shaped  vase  just  where  the  full  tide  of  glory  strikes,  and 
there  it  holds  it,  till  through  its  opened  mouth  it  is  filled,  and  there 
is  no  more  room  to  receive  it.  Meanwhile,  it  verifies  the  plain 
promise  made  to  it,  "  There  shall  no  evil  befall  thee.  Thou  ehalt 
tread  upon  the  lion  and  the  adder ;  the  young  lion  and  dragon  shalt 
thou  trample  under  feet." 

Here  we  see  the  force  and  significance  of  the  motto,  Patet 

« 

cEthrcB,  claiiditur  orhi,  "it  is  open  to  the  rother,  it  is  closed  to  the 
world."  Happy  in  its  experience  of  heavenly  blessings,  the  spirit 
henceforth  knows  when  and  where  to  apply  and  rests  in  the  calm 
assurance  that  an  inexhaustible  bounty  is  ever  ready  to  supply  its 
need.  Now  it  is  that  the  world  blooms  around  it,  as  it  never 
bloomed  before.  The  symbol  of  the  rent  tomb  alights  upon  a 
world  half-covered  with  flowers,  and  surrounded  with  memorials 
of  a  sinless  Eden.  On  either  side,  nature  seems  to  wear  her  fairest 
and  most  attractive  smiles.  Everything  on  earth  grows  radiant  in 
that  light  from  the  throne,  which  fills  the  vase  of  the  believer's 
hope. 

Meanwhile,  the  flesh  has  only  its  tightly-closed,  dead  world  on 
its  hands.  No  light  falls  upon  it.  No  glory  wraps  it  about.  Nay, 
if  it  did,  Ixis  eyes  would  be  unable  to  endure  the  blaze.  Sin  has 
weakened  them,  and  the  dazzUng  beams  from  above,  would  smite 
them  blind.  Thus,  with  equal  privileges,  it  is  life  impoverished,  while 
the  spirit  drinks  its  fill  of  blessing  from  the  throne. 


9  head, 
resents 
is,  and 
I  there 

plain 
I  shalt 

shalt 

Patet 
J  the 
spirit 
calm 

ly  its 

lever 

>n  a 

rials 

irest 

tin 

er's 


on 

ay, 
las 
ite 
ile 


^iUea  heaaiony  ]„tsswn  yls  li.r  m,,,  „    r,;,.-...,, 
rhe  force  nf  nature,  like  too  strong  ,i  ynle 
for  u;i  „t  of  ballast,  oversets  the  vessel. 


-TO  IVrr^L   SS  P!^ESE,;r  WITH  J,E.  BUT  HOW  TO   FERPOHH    THAT 
WHICH  IS  GOOCD.  I  FIN®  HOT  '  -Paul  '" 

jUMAN   nature  is   a   sti-ange   paradox.     -  The  good  that 
I  would,  I  do  not ;  but  the  e^A\  which  I  would  not,  t)mt 
I  do,"  was  the  self-humiUating  confession  of  an  inspired 
apostle.     There  are  in  the  soul  diverse  elements,  so  diverse  that  it 
seems  to  itself  to  have  a  double  being.     In  the  silence  of  its  own 
consciousness,  it  sometimes  seems  to  hear  the  voices  of  an.>-els  an<l 
sometimes  the  voices  of  fiends.     It  is  almost  as  if  the  domain  of  tlu- 
spirit  was  equally-carved,  and  of  the  border-land  of  two  contested 
words,  a  heaven  and  a  hell.     It  is  as  if  a  Jacob  and  an  Esau  dwelt 
m  the  same  bosom,  or  as  if  limb  to  limb,  a  dead  body  was  bound 
to  a  li\ing. 

There  is  in  the  soul  the  element  of  conscience,  often  torpid  and 
sluggish  to  utter  its  rebuke,  and  there  are  there,  also,  at  the  same 
time  passions  that  a  spark  will  kindle  to  a  blaze.  There  is  there 
a  half-smothered  aspiration,  which  even  when  reduced,  as  it  were' 
to  Its  last  gasp,  still  points  upward,  and  there  is  also  a  gravitation 
toward  evil,  reminding  us  of  Cowper's  description  of  those  whose 

"Ambition  is  to  sink, 
To  roach  a  dcptli  profounder  still,  and  still 
Profounder,  ii,  the  fathomless  ubyss 
Of  folly,  plunging  in  pursuit  of  di-ath." 


soo 


A     LIFE    STUDY. 


Those  diverse  elements,  often  conflicting,  often  in  strange  con- 
trast, mujst  be  difierontly  handled.  One  needs  the  bit,  and  the 
other  the  spur.  One  is  in  danger  of  running  away  with  us,  and 
the  other  too  indolent  or  inefficient  even  to  bear  us  up.  Both  are 
symbolized  in  the  picture.  The  better  element  of  human  nature 
pants  like  a  deer  to  ascend  to  loftier  heights  of  attainment,  but  it 
lacks  capacity.  It  has  the  will — in  the  sense  of  desire — but  not  the 
power.  With  the  ass's  head,  it  has  the  snail's  body,  and  can  only 
crawl  upward,  tediously  slow.  The  other,  with  a  child's  eager  im- 
petuosity of  desire,  has  only  to  plunge  downward  under  the  gravi- 
tation of  lust  and  appetite,  and  this  it  does,  mounted  on  a  deer- 
headed  butterfly,  whose  wings  are  mottled  by  the  opaque  worlds 
depicted  on  them.  Even  then,  its  winged  flight  is  too  slow  for  its 
desire,  and  from  the  barbed  point  of  its  arrow,  which  it  uses  as  a 
handle,  the  flying  lash  is  ready  to  descend  and  urge  the  gay  courser 
to  greater  speed. 

Both  these  tendencies  of  human  nature  rest,  as  it  were,  upon 
a  sloping  declivity — the  declivity  of  an  innate  depravity.  Left  to 
themselves,  and  bound  to  a  common  experience,  these  ill-matched 
Siamese  twins  could  only  glide  downward,  the  one  dragging  the 
other  hopelessly  after  it.  Hence  the  wisdom  of  the  motto  which 
we  see  below,  in  the  wreathed  inscription,  to  which  are  appropri- 
ately appended,  bit  and  spur.  Da  mihi  frcena,  timor ;  da  mihi  calcar, 
atnor.  "Fear,  give  me  the  reins;  love,  give  me  the  spur."  The 
good  impulse,  or  suggestion,  needs  to  be  encouraged,  the  evil  to  be 
checked. 

Above,  we  have  an  emblem  lesson  which  needs  to  be  combined 
with  this  to  supplement  its  wisdom.  We  see  a  tortoise  tediously 
crawling  upward  along  its  steep  path,  and  we  feel  that  it  must  not 
venture  to  remit  or  lose  a  single  step.  Yet  the  light- winged  swal- 
lows may  stoop  do^vnward  safely  to  the  very  earth,  even  with  the 
world  bound  to  its  back,  if  only  the  cross  also  is  there.     It  shall 


fi   LIFE    STUDY 


SD-^ 


rise  again  at  will,  and  soar  in  the  clear  hoavens,  and  know  nothing 
of  heights  or  depths,  of  struggle  or  defeat.  So  lot  the  soul  bo 
winged  with  love ;  let  the  aspiring  element  of  its  better  nature  tako 
the  imprint  of  the  cross,  and  it  shall  bear  a  world  upon  its  shoul- 
ders; it  shall  go  down  to  the  lowliest,  it  shall  soar  to  the  loftiest, 
equally  at  home  with  the  white-robed  angel  before  the  throne,  and 
the  ragged,  suffering  angel  of  the  hovel,  waiting  to  put  on  its  wings 
and  soar  away. 

Above  the  scroll,  is  the  symbol  of  divine  providence,  combin- 
ing in  one  the  javelin  of  justice,  and  the  shepherd's  crook.  The 
point  of  the  javelin  is  turned  toward  a  world  without  a  cross,  that 
follows  '  the  star  of  its  God  Eemphan,'  while  the  crook  indicates  a 
shepherd's  care,  for  a  world  under  the  influence  of  the  cross. 


^!' 


TIEN  Wasliin}ijt()ii,  with  tears  in  Ills  eyes,  hi;j^tuMl  the  doath- 
WiUTant  ot' Major  Aiulro,  Ida  vory  soul  was  shakoii  by  tho 
conllict  within  him,  of  the  deraanda  of  justice,  and  appeals 
of  mercy.  But  justice — Hke  duty,  aa  Wordsworth  lias  apostro- 
phized hor,  "  intern  daughter  of  the  voice  of  God" — was  iniperativo. 
The  livi'S  of  his  own  countrymen,  or  even  the  issue  of  the  proat 
struggle,  in  which  the  fate  of  a  nation  waa  imperiled,  wore  at 
stake  on  hi 3  decision. 

In  this  pi(!ture,  we  see  one,  around  whoso  h(^ad  is  a  lioavenly 
halo,  determining  a  kindred  question,  in  which  the  fate,  not  of  an 
individual  merely,  but  of  a  race,  ia  involved.  Standing  beneath 
the  arms  of  a  balance — to  which  a  heart  ia  attached,  to  show  that 
it  ia  designed  to  weigh  ita  merits  or  demerits — the  sword  of  justice 
has  been  thrown  into  one  scale,  carrying  it  down  toward  tho  earth, 
even  while  the  world  has  been  thrown  into  the  o])posite  scale.  The 
meaning  ia  obvious.  The  desert  of  sin,  which  the  sword  of  justice 
intimates,  is  such,  that  a  whole  globe,  with  all  that  it  contains,  is  no 
offset  for  it.  Something  more  must  be  added,  or,  perhaps,  rather 
Bubstituted.     What  shall  it  be  ?     Other  globes  would  be  equally 


I 


IF' 


.1 


■  I 


p 


i! 


I 


1 


§1} 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


vain.  It  must  bo  Bomething  l)y  which  "  mercy  iniiy  rojoico  against 
judgment."  The  only  thing,  in  tho  wholo  universe  which  can 
.sullico,  is  tho  cros.s — tho  gracious  provi.siun  of  a  crucilicd  Ilodoomor, 
by  wliich  tho  mujosty  of  tho  broken  hiw  nuiy  bo  indicated,  and  yot 
morcy  bo  extended'  to  tho  penitent  transgressor.  Tliis  alouo  can 
uud  will  suffice  against  the  sword  of  justice. 

Very  significant  above  is  tho  bent  spear.  The  weapcju  is  terri- 
ble, its  hilt  crowned  with  a  death's  head,  to  intimate  its  office, 
kindred  to  that  of  death  as  the  penalty  of  sin.  If  it  liad  not  been 
bent,  it  would  have  pierced,  with  its  mortal  thrust,  tho  heart  of  the 
race.  But  an  invisible  might  has  bent  it,  and  now  it  pierces  an- 
other heart,  that  never  seemed  exposed  to  it,  or  in  its  way,  and  the 
fivo  mortal  wounds  that  are  inflicted,  serve  to  show  that  it  is  tlu* 
heart  of  infinite  love  that  bleeds. 

Beneath,  w©  see  that  heart  lowered  by  the  central  one — tho 
most  conspicuous  of  these  passion-flowers — that  turns  itself  full  and 
open  to  our  gaze.  Here  it  is,  with  its  ten  petals,  representing  the 
apostles — Peter  and  Judas  being  omitted — its  stamens  indicating 
the  glory  of  the  sufierer ;  its  purple  threads  surrounding  the  bot- 
tom of  the  style,  the  crown  of  thorns — tho  style  itself  tho  pillar  to 
which  the  malefactors  were  bound  to  be  scourged — the  clasper,  the 
cord,  and  the  palmetto  leaf,  the  hand.  Tho  three  divisions  on  the 
top  of  the  style,  fancy  has  represented  as  the  three  nails,  one  of  the 
five  stamens  as  the  hammer,  and  the  other  four  the  cross,  which 
the  albastrices  at  the  bottom  of  the  corolla,  stand  for  the  soldiers 
casting  lots,  and  the  three  days  intervening  between  tho  opening 
and  closing  of  the  flower,  denotes  the  period  between  the  Saviour's 
death  and  resurrection. 

The  cross  is  thus  indissolubly  associated  with  the  pierced 
heart — His  heart  who  "  was  wounded  for  our  transgressions,  and 
bruised  for  our  iniquities."  Only  by  the  cross,  can  the  sword  of 
justice  be  outweighed.     To  redeem  the  soul,  under  condemnation 


A    LIFE    CTUDY 


Hi 


for  Hin,  and  oxposod  to  that  just  dos»trt,  tho  mnro  forobodiiig  «>t' 
which  may  well  uiinmri  it,  tlioro  waH  iiccdod  iiioio  than  a  divinn 
inipulso  to  inori-y,  i)V«>u  tho  moans  to  molt  tho  hnnian  luiart  by  an 
oxhibition  of  lovo,  and  at  tho  Humo  timo  opon  tht»  way  for  tho  ox- 
orciHO  of  a  morcy  whi(!h  hhonld  not  sot  aside,  or  dishonor  the  vio- 
latod  law. 

"Thu  dworil  of  wmili  Im  Htayi'il 
Init*  piirHuli  ofbloud;  , 

Tlio  crogii  our  dobt  had  palJ, 
And  madu  our  peace  with  Uod. 

**  The  croHii  hulh  power  to  navi', 
Krom  ull  the  fook  that  riw  ; 
1'he  croiiii  hath  tnndo  tho  gnvo 
A  pMMktfu  to  the  •klua." 


i 


II 


I 


i  ! 


IB: 


%^^^ 


Where  now,  ye  lying  vanities  of  life  f 
Ye  ever  tempting,  ever  cheating  train  .' 
fVhere  are  ye  now,  and  what  is  your  amount  t 
Vexation,  disappointment,  and  remorse. 


■FOR  THB  THINGS  WHICH   ARE   SEEN  ARE  TEMPORAL  ;   BUT  THE 
THINGS  WHICH  ARE  NOi'  SEEN  ARE  ETERNAL  ■—Paul 

|ONTEAST  the  flesh  and  spirit !  We  see  this  contrast  in 
the  character  of  the  objects  which  the  several  tastes  of 
persons  lead  them  to  observe.  An  "old  mortality,"  pass- 
ing through  the  graveyard,  would  pause  to  read  the  name  of  each 
crumbling  stone.  A  modem  geologist  would  simply  note  the  cha- 
racter of  the  strata,  from  which  the  stone  was  taken.  A  Howard, 
wherever  he  went,  would  ^^sit  the  prisons.  A  Sir  Joshua  Eeynolds 
would  be  mainly  curious  about  galleries  of  art. 

The  very  same  objects  may  be  seen  with  very  different  emo- 
tions. The  man  who  visits,  after  a  long  absence,  the  scenes  of  his 
young  life,  will  seem  to  see  every  lingering  object  that  memory 
embalmed,  invested  with  a  kind  of  sanctity,  while  tlie  new  possessor 
of  the  estate  will  change  and  tear  down  and  rebuild,  as  if  he  were 
but  removing  an  obstruction,  or  abating  a  nuisance. 

How  differently  do  the  heavens  present  themselves  to  the  gazd 
of  diflPerent  men, 

"  In  reason's  ear  they  all  rejoice, 
And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice ; 
Forever  singing  as  they  shine, 
The  hand  that  made  ua  is  divino." 


5f 


i 


I 


S14 


A   LIFE  STUDY ^ 


And  yet  another  shall  look  upward  like  him  whom  Follok  de- 
scribes, 

"  Who  thought 
The  vlBual  line  that  girt  him  round  the  -world's  extreme, 
And  thought  the  moon  tlmt  nightly  o'er  him  led 
Her  virgin  host  no  hroader  than  his  fa  iier'g  shield." 

Much  the  same  is  the  contrast  between  flesh  and  spirit,  as  we  see 
it  illustrated  here.  They  have  the  same  glass,  which  they  inter- 
change, and  with  it  gaze  upward  to  the  skies. 

The  spirit,  with  the  glass  resting  on  the  support  of  a  heart, 
emptied  of  all  worldliness,  discerns  the  transitoriness  of  all  earthly 
t'j'iings.  It  sees  the  sun  itself  shorn  of  his  beams,  reduced  to  a 
death's  head  disc,  and  ready  to  vanish  in  night.  Nay,  it  looks  be- 
yond all  this — sees  an  universe  dissolving,  the  heavens  wrapped 
together  as  a  scroll,  the  judgment-seat,  and  the  books  opened,  and 
the  record  of  human  life  and  vanity  aU  displayed. 

Flesh,  or  sense,  endeavors  to  thrust  other  objects  into  view, 
and  hide  the  grand  spectacle.  It  would  intervene  with  a  globe, 
surmounted  with  a  prism  rather  than  a  cross,  and  charm  the  spirit's 
eye,  with  all  the  variety  of  colors  which  the  prism  displays.  These 
are  what  it  loves  itself  to  behold.  These  feast  its  fancy,  while  they 
delude  it  to  fatal  error.  In  these,  it  finds  the  kingdom,  of  the 
world,  and  all  the  glory  of  them,  and  it  is  continually  soliciting  the 
spirit  to  turn  its  glass  toward  them. 

But  it  solicits  in  vain.  The  spirit  feels  that  earthly  interests, 
compared  to  heavenly,  are  like  the  apex  of  a  pyramid  (inverted)  to 
its  base.  The  higher  it  mounts,  the  more  broadly  they  extend,  till 
above  the  visible  firmament,  they  expand  into  the  light  unap- 
proachable. It  sees,  too,  that  the  future  of  sense  is  but  a  huge 
opaque  disc,  central  to  which  is  a  death's  head,  which  is  alone  dis- 
cernible. From  such  a  future,  it  turns  away,  preferring  the  glass 
of  faith  to  the  keenest  sensual  vision,  and  remembering  that  old 
things  must  pass  away,  while  there  is  a  city  which  hath  foimda- 
tions,  whose  maker  and  builder  is  God. 


I  PoUok  de- 


t,  as  we  see 
they  inter- 

of  a  heart, 
all  earthly 
iuced  to  a 
fc  looks  be- 
3  wrapped 
pened,  and 

into  view, 
a  globe, 
the  spirit's 
8.  These 
vhile  they 
tn,  of  the 
citing  the 

interests, 
s^erted)  to 
ctend,  till 
bt  unap- 
t  a  huge 
lone  dis- 
the  glass 
that  old 
founda- 


7^ 


ii    I  111 


i     : 


( 


"  ne  that  wrestles  with  us,  strengthens  our 
nerves,  and  sharpens  our  skill.  Our  antago- 
nist is  our  helper."— Burko. 


f^ 


'  BUT  I  SEE  ANOTHER  LA  W  IN  i.'Y  MEMBERS.   WARRINO-  AGAINST 
.     THE  LA  W  OF  MY  MWD.  '  —Paul 

jLESH  and  blood  continue  still  to  war  against  tlio  8i)iiit  in 
deadly  conflict,  and  this  world  is  the  scene  of  action. 
The  fortunes  of  the  strife  are  various.  The  good  man, 
sometime  loses  his  footing,  and  falls  under  the  force  of  his  antag- 
onist, "The  flesh  lusteth  against  the  Spirit,"  and  at tii>.  w  over- 
whelms it,  with  its  assaults.  But  though  sorely  smitten,  it  is  not 
overcome.  Its  motto  may  still  be—"  troubled  on  every  side,  yet 
not  distressed ;  perjilexed,  but  not  in  despair ;  persecuted,  but  not 
forsaken;  cast  down,  but  not  destroyed."  Indeed,  some  of  tho 
most  instructive  lessons  of  human  experience,  are  learned  atjusfc 
that  moment,  when  the  soul  is  recovering  itself,  or  when  divine 
grace  is  recovering  it  from  its  fall. 

Here  in  a  narrow  circle — indicating  their  close  conjunction  in. 
a  single  personality— we  see  the  struggle  between  the  carnal  and 
the  spiritual  nature.  The  foi-mer  has  secured  its  advantage,  and 
the  Spiritual  nature  is  cast  down  almost  to  the  earth.  But,  sus- 
tained by  a  divine  strength,  it  is  bravely  recovering  itself,  resolved 
to  maintain  the  fight.  So  long  as  it  is  resolute,  no  fall  can  prove 
fatal.     The  halo  of  light  about  its  head  gives  assurance  that  an. 


w 


I  1 


s:a 


LIFE    STUOy. 


invisible  guardian  watches  over  it.  It  may  fall  again  and  again,  but 
its  final  victory — if  it  persists — is  assured.  So  long  as  the  conflict 
is  maintained,  the  flesh  grows  weaker  and  weaker,  while  the  spirit 
waxes  stronger  and  stronger. 

We  see  also,  the  diverse  results  of  temptation  in  the  opposite 
experience  of  two  doves.  One  has  lingered  in  the  way  of  danger, 
and  the  cat,  with  stealthy  step,  has  seized  upon  it,  and  made  it  its 
prey.  The  other,  on  free  wing,  is  soaring  aloft  ia  the  clear  air  of 
heaven,  already  beyond  tlie  reach  of  all  hostile,  earthly  designs. 
This  is  the  experience  of  the  spirit,  triumphing  over  the  arts  and 
powers  of  the  flesh.  It  at  last  breaks  loose  from  the  grasp  of  its 
antagonist,  and  soars  to  its  native  skies. 

On  the  right,  we  see  the  swift  winged  bird,  heaven's  own  mes- 
senger, hasting  upward  to  bear  the  news  of  the  Spirit's  danger,  to 
heavenly  powers,  which  may  bring  it  needed  help.  The  spirit  in- 
deed can  never  fall,  without  a  witness,  that  shall  note  its  dan- 
ger, and  speed  away  to  bring  it  assured  reUef. 

On  the  left,  we  see  a  javelin  wrapped  about  with  a  scroll  on 
which  forms  of  human  hearts  are  imprinted,  importing  that  he  who 
wields  it  accoimts  these  his  trophies.  Thus,  whether  we  look  to  the 
heavenly  messenger,  or  the  infernal  javelin,  we  feel  that  each  tes- 
tifies to  the  importance  of  that  conflict  which  is  waged  between 
flesh  and  spirit 

**  The  soul  of  man— Jehovah's  breath, 
That  keeps  two  worlds  at  strife ; 
Hell  from  beneath  would  work  its  death, 
Heaven  stoops  to  give  it  life." 

Nor  is  the  issue  doubtful,  so  long  as  the  spirit  is  true  to  itself  Its 
case  and  exposure  are  known  in  heaven.  Every  blow  that  smites 
it,  by  the  swift  winged  herald,  is  reported  there. 

"  The  soul  that  on  Jesus  has  leaned  for  repose, 
He  cannot,  ho  will  not  forsake  to  its  foes ; 
That  soul,  though  all  hell  should  endeavor  to  shake, 
He'll  never,  no  never,  no  never  forsake." 


again,  but 
he  conflict 
J  the  spirit 

e  opposite 
•f  danger, 
nade  it  its 
lear  air  of 
y  designs. 
3  arts  and 
asp  of  its 

own  mes- 
langer,  to 
spirit  in- 
its  dan- 
scroll  on 
it  he  who 
ok  to  the 
each  tes- 
between 


elf.     Its 
t  smites 


I 


I      :i 


All  my  CiouyUU,  willt  uptoarU  wiiigivg, 
Hiilhr  where,  thi/ own  hylit  is  xpringing. 


^^WWMm 


■■  LIQHT  IS  SOWN  FOR  THE  RIOHTEOUS.  AN^i  OLA0NESS  FOR  THE 
UPRIGHT  IN  HEART  -—Vavid. 

JNEELING,  in  tho  dull  air,  annd  grass  and  flowers,  sprin- 
kled with  tiioh„ar  Irost,  a  little  child,  representin- tl.o 
earnest  soul  longing  for  light,  s.nds  up  his  petition  t<. 
heaven.  Phosphore,  redde  diem;  " Light  bearer,  give  back  tho  day  *' 
18  the  burden  of  his  prayer.  Well  may  he  offer  it.  Tlie  dense 
rolling  vapors  above  his  head,  mantle  tho  glob.,  and  turn  noon  to 
twihght.  Weary  of  the  darkness,  he  looks  up  to  hin,,  who  is  "the 
light  of  the  world,"  and  cries  for  help.  All  tho  light  lie  has  is 
that  of  a  taper  blaze,  the  feeble,  flickering  flan.e  of  a  lieart,  resting, 
on  the  dark,  cold  earth.  ^ 

The  day  may  have   dawned  for  others,  but  not  for  him      F-xr 
aloft  on  the  earth's  pole  is  a  cock,  but  with  no  life  in  it,  a  mere  vane 
shifting  with  the  wind.     By  no   crowing,  does  it  herald  the  onward 
march  of  day.     To  the  right,  we  see  the  owl,  and  the  night  hawk 
plunging  down  to   enjoy  with  genial   delight  their  loved  darkness 
the  former,  ever  striving  to  quench  the  feeble  light  of  a  taper,  thaJ 
comes  in  his  way.     To  the  left,  a  lighted  candle  irradiates  nothin.. 
but  a  fool's  cap,  that  is  in  danger   of  being  consumed  by  its  bla  J 
Beneath,  is  the  rich  mantle,  with  the  star  of  nobility,  and  other  sym- 
bols of  worldly  pride,  and  greatness.     But  there  is  no  light  in  them. 
They  may  gleam,  or  be  admired  in  the  festive  hall,  or  the  gorgeous 


>t 


tpfl 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


.tiilDon,  but  thoy  aro  not  what  the  neody,  consciously  benighted  soul 
longs  for.  It  turns  not  toward  theui,  but  to  the  eternal  fountain 
und  the  great  Author  of  light. 

As  the  greatest  and  most  idolized  of  modem  Gorman  poets  lay 
on  his  death  bed,  he  pointed  to  the  curtained  windows,  and  amid 
the  dimness  of  the  darkened  room,  whispered,  "Light;  more  light." 
Sin  has  curtained  the  globe,  with  its  deep  shadows,  and  turned  it 
into  a  death-chamber,  and  many  a  sinking  spirit,  with  a  deeper 
pathos  than  that  of  Goethe's  tones,  has  called  out,  '*  Light ;  more 
light."  It  is  what  the  soul  needs  above  all  else — the  light  of  hea- 
ven, the  light  that  comes  from  an  unclouded  heaven,  from  a  sun 
that  never  sets. 

There  is  such  a  light.  It  was  heralded,  even  in  the  old,  dim 
centuries,  by  the  voices  of  prophets  and  sacred  bards.  It  rose  in 
full-orbed  splendor,  when  he  w  ho  spake,  as  never  man  spake,  pro- 
nounced with  authority,  "  I  am  the  light  of  the  world."  Experience 
has  attested  that  he  who  dwells  in  him  shall  not  abide  in  darkness, 
but  have  the  light  of  life.  The  earnest  soul  that  cries  after  that 
light — that  emphasizes  with  soul-pervading  earnestness,  the  pe- 
tition, "Light  bearer,  give  back  the  day,"  shall  seek  and  find.  An 
eye  of  pity  rests  on  the  lonely  child,  trembling  amid  the  night  dews 
and  shadows,  and  a  hand  of  love  will  draw  the  curtain  of  the  thick 
clouds,  and  let  in  upon  it,  the  warmth  and  light  of  a  better 
day. 


i 


ightod  Boul 
al  fountain 

a  poets  lay 
and  amid 
lore  light." 
i  turned  it 
a  deeper 
jht;  more 
ht  of  hea- 
rom  a  sun 


i  old,  dim 
It  rose  in 
•ake,  pro- 
xperience 
Jarkness, 
ifter  that 
the  pe- 
nd.     An 
2;ht  dews 
;he  thick 
a  better 


( 


^    0'<' 


To  danct  on  pruvfi,  (■,  howl  with  nkiilln,  to  find 
J'I'aiure  in  i/'ounrf,t  ami  ulcrn,  'tin  tin  art 
In/tmal,  blowing  bubblci  uiitli  Uearl't  blood. 


THE   CDaUOHTER   op  BEI^ODTAS  CDA-lOh:  D   BEFOTiE    THEM.  AN^ 
PLEASE<D  HERO'X)    -Matthoio 

jULTITTJDES  thoro  aro  to  whom  life  presents  no  serious  as- 
pect. They  are  devoted  disciples  of  "  the  laughing  phi- 
losopher." They  are  quick  to  discern  the  ludicrous,  but 
slov^r  to  perceive  anything  else.  Life  itself  is  to  them  a  protracted 
jest,  and  evaporates  away  in  empty  humour.  Ail  its  forma  are 
clothed  with  cap  and  bells.  The  thing,  that  cannot  minister  to  amuse- 
ment, is  worthless  and  despised. 

Here  we  see  a  youth,  representing  the  thoughtlessness  of  hu- 
man nature,  with  bow  and  arrow  in  hand,  amusing  himself  with  a 
Punch  and  Judy,  that  stands  on  the  topmost  of  a  pile  of  skulls, 
from  the  eyes  of  which,  worms  are  seen  crawling  out,  and  holds  in 
his  hand,  the  fox-headed  club,  that  symbolizes  his  character.  The 
world,  on  the  disk  of  which  the  youth  is  seen,  is  surmounted  by  a 
cross,  at  the  centre  of  which,  is  a  ghastly  deatli's  head,  while  at  the 
extremities  of  its  arms,  and  from  the  point  of  the  cap  that  crowns 
it  at  the  top,  miniature  worlds  depend.  The  whole  is  surrounded 
by  a  pair  of  spectacles  framed  for  the  most  part  of  long  and  jointed 


"iTn 


■ 


'-    la 


1:1    !' 


Bao 


n   LIFE    STUDY. 


bones  fastened  together,  while  in  the  place  of  one  glass  is  a  skull, 
with  a  butterfly  and  flowers,  and  in  the  place  of  the  other,  a  harle- 
quin's dress,  surrounded  by  stars.  Thus  are  combined  in  a  single 
view,  the  serious  and  the  humorous,  and  they  are  utterly  confounded 
together. 

Beneath,  we  see  a  human  heart  beholding  itself  in  a  mirror — 
that  mirror  the  word  of  God — and  thus  discerning  the  inmost 
thought,  and  intent  of  it,  with  a  scrutiny,  which  cannot  be  deceived. 
Here,  there  is  no  room  for  deception.  **  As  a  man  thinketh  in  hi.; 
heart,  so  is  he,"  and  in  this  case,  the  heart  is  fuUy  displayed  ;  it 
apprehends  itself  as  it  is,  with  an  experience  in  entire  contrast  with 
that  of  him,  who  is  misled  by  the  appearances  and  judgments  of 
the  world. 

The  lesson  taught  is  as  true,  as  it  is  humiliating.  Men  are 
prone,  even  through  the  spectacles  of  their  own  morality,  to  seek 
to  discern  only,  what  will  minister  to  mirth  and  pleasure.  The 
most  sombre  and  melancholy  objects  and  scenes  furnish  food  for 
their  amusement.  The  harlequin  may  stand  on  a  pyramid  of  nau- 
seous skulls,  but  instead  of  revolting,  attracts  and  amuses.  Death 
itself,  furnishes  material  for  jesting,  and  the  little  imps  of  revelry, 
serve  as  fools  of  old,  in  royal  couits,  to  help  forward  a  coarse  and 
boisterous  mirth. 

Sic  decipit  orhis.  "  Thus  the  world  deceives."  It  puts  on  cheat- 
ipg  masks,  on  which  the  undisceming  and  thoughtless  eye  rests  con- 
tent, or  even  delighted.  The  grim  features  of  stern  reality,  are 
hidden  by  panoramas  of  vanity  and  false  pleasure.  But  the  vic- 
tim of  deception  is  himself  without  excuse.  The  skull  may  plain- 
ly be  seen  amid  the  butterflies  and  flowers.  The  worms  are  visi- 
bly crawling  from  the  hollow  sockets  where  human  eyes  once 
glared.  Men  do  not  see  the  truth,  because  they  will  nc-t.  They 
are  blinded  by  their  own  hearts,  for  the  heart  before  the  eye  hides 


A     LIFE    STUDY 


SS? 


8  is  a  skull, 

er,  a  harle- 

in  a  single 

confounded 

a  mirror — 
he  inmost 
3  deceived, 
kethinhi.: 
played;  it 
itrast  with 
^menta  of 


what  it  will  from  its  gaze,  and  allows  it  only  to  behold  the  amusing 

the  humorous,  or  the  ludicrous  side  of  things. 

Human  fancy  displaces   reason.     In  this  real  world,  it  creates 

an  ideal  Avhich  overshadows  and  obscures  it.  The  real  features  of 
things  are  deformed  and  caricatured.  The  heart  allows  itself  to  be 
cheated  by  the  world,  and  when  our  cheat  is  detected,  it  is  stiU 
ready  to  fall  tho  victim  of  another.  To  the  last  almost,  it  will 
amuse  itself  with  the  harlequin  that  performs  his  antics,  even  on 
tho  pyramid  of  skulls.  So  it  can  be  entertained,  it  cares  not  whether 
it  be  edified.  So  it  can  be  provoked  to  a  laugh,  or  be  convulsed 
with  a  jest,  it  cares  little,  whether  it  be  saved  or  not. 


Men  are 
y,  to  seek 
ire.  The 
I  food  for 
i  of  nau- 
.  Death 
'  revelry, 
•arse  and 

m  cheat- 
ests  con- 
ility,  are 
the  vic- 
ty  plain - 
are  visi- 
es  once 
•  They 
e  hides 


I 


h 


••ALL  GO  UNTO  ONE  PLACE  ;  ALL  ARE   OF  THE  DUST.    AN<S)  ALL 
TURN  TO  ^UST  JlGAIN  ■—Solomon. 

|EE  here  a  youtli,  pressing  his  ear  to  a  hollow  globe,  and  ex- 
claiming, Tinnit ;  inane  est,  "  it  rings,  it  is  empty."  A  sec- 
tion of  its  surface  has  fallen  off,  and  lies  shriveled  on  the 
floor,  where  a  greedy  fox,  in  hope  of  booty,  smells  of  it,  and 
grasps  it  in  his  paws,  but  can  make  nothing  of  it.  It  cannot  fur- 
nish food,  even  to  his  ravenous  appetite. 

Near  by  is  a  rope,  one  end  lying  loose  upon  the  floor,  and  the 
other,  passing  through  a  wall  to  some  unseen  ball,  connected  with 
the  massive  structiire,  visible  in  the  background.  Let  the  youth 
drop  his  ball,  and  pull  upon  the  rope,  and  it  will  only  ring  back  an 
empty  sound.  Above  the  very  flowers  with  all  their  beauty  are 
merely  bells,  by  their  very  aspect,  forever  ringing  out  inane  est,  it  is 
empty.  Below,  on  either  side,  are  barometers  unmarked,  and 
their  contents  have  shrunk  to  a  mere  speck.  The  little  worlds  that 
hang  suspended  from  the  flowers,  have  each  a  dial-faco,  as  if  to  in- 
timate the  fleeting  natui'e  of  the  hours,  and  the  vanity  of  time. 

It  is  thus,  that  the  emptiness  of  a  noisy  world  is  symbolized. 
The  very  tumult  and  confusion  of  it  gives  evidence,  how  hollow  it 
is.  Empty  things  resound  loudest.  A  hollow  world  will  resound, 
where  a  solid  one  will  scarcely  give  back  an  echo.  The  voice  of 
fame,  sending  her  trumpet  blast  abroad,  disturbs   the  world ;  but 


S30 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


how  little  then  is  it !  The  shout  of  applause — even  when  as  before 
heard,  it  cries  out — "  it  is  the  voice  of  a  God," — dies  away  in  a  mo- 
ment to  less  than  a  whisper,  and  leaves  no  memorial,  even  of  its 
vanity  behind.  And  yet,  how  many  are  cheated  by  these  things ! 
Though  fame  be  but  "a  farrier's  life  in  other's  breath,"  it  is  eager- 
ly sought  after.  How  few  perceive,  that  it  is  a  simple,  hollow 
globe,  that  rings  the  louder  when  smitten,  for  that  very  reason. 

Little  do  the  great  mass  heed  what  Cowper  ha£>  so  beautifully 
expressed : 

*'  StilleAt  BtrcaiuB 
Ofl  water  fairest  meadowe,  and  the  bird, 
That  flutters  least,  is  longest  on  the  wing." 

The  backgroimd  of  the  picture  shows  us  the  frowning  walls  of 
a  castle,  and  the  ladder  of  ambition  by  which  aspiring  spirits  climb 
to  fame,  and  wolfish  natures  climb  for  prey,  yet  neither  find  there 
anything  but  the  shell  ot  an  empty  world.  The  cold  walls  near  by 
give  back  no  light,  and  reveal  no  beauty.  All  is  cold,  and  naked, 
and  cheerless.  Such  is  the  soUtude  of  greatness,  such  the  vanity  of 
the  coveted  prize.  How  many  a  Heart  has  ached  at  tlie  discovery ! 
How  many  a  fond  wish,  has  that  discovery  doomed  to  disappoint- 
ment! Who  would  climb  and  toil,  to  be  repaid  by  the  music  of  a 
hoUow  globe !  Yet  who  is  willing  to  believe  that  it  is  hollow,  till 
he  has  tried  it  for  himself?  He  must  put  his  own  ear  to  it.  He 
must  have  it  ring  forth  its  own  emptiness. 

How  much  of  vain  striving  might  be  saved,  if  it  were  only 
known  beforehand !  But  fools  must  learn  in  the  school  of  expe- 
rience, and  then  the  lesson  will  be  remembered.  Mere  sound  is  all 
the  reward  that  the  world  pays  back,  or  can  pay  back  to  thousands. 
The  prize  they  grasp  at  is  but  the  echo  of  a  breath,  and  it  perishes 
at  the  very  moment  when  it  strikes  the  ear.  The  heart  is  left  or- 
phaned, soUtary  and  sad.  A  hollow  globe  has  no  treasure  or  con- 
solation which  can  cheer  it  All  it  has  to  give,  deserves  only  to  be 
spumed. 


1  as  before 
y  in  a  mo- 
Jven  of  its 
se  things ! 
fc  is  eager- 
•©,  hollow 
eason. 
eautifully 


:  walls  of 
its  climb 
nd  there 
near  by 
i  naked, 
'anity  of 
icovery ! 
ippoint- 
sic  of  a 
low,  till 
it.     He 

re  only 
■  expe- 
i  is  all 
isands. 
Irishes 
eft  or- 
>r  con- 
to  be 


w 


■  ? 


Half  our  daylight  is  a  fahU, 
Sleep  disports  with  shadows  too. 

Seeming  in  their  turn  as  stable 
As  the  world  we  wake  to  view. 


.(k 


5^ 


"  WALK  IN  THE  LIOHT  OF  YOUFl  OWN  FTRE    AN<D    IN   THE  SPARKS 
THAT  YF-1  H^VE  KIN^LE<D.     .     .     YE  SHALL  LIE  OOWN  IN 
SORROW/— Isa-.ah- 

P  soul  can  live  eternally  without  God,  any  more  than  the 
world  can  live  without  the  sun.  He  is  its  life  and  light. 
Deprived  of  him,  it  must  "walk  in  the  light  of  its  own 
fire ;"  it  can  only  look  for  help  to  idols  of  its  own  forming.  Of 
such  a  soul,  it  is  declared  that  it  "  shall  lie  down  in  sorrow." 

There  are  ten  thousand  forms  and  phases  of  sin,  wliich  bear 
the  stamp  of  consummate  and  transparent  folly.  They  are  as  if  a 
man  should  put  out  his  own  eyes,  or  cut  otf  his  own  ann,  or  mix 
poison  in  his  own  cup,  or  plant  thorns  in  his  own  pillow.  But 
tliero  is  one  form  of  sin,  that  seems  the  consummation  and  combi- 
nation of  aU  others.  It  is  that  which  practically  denies  the  being 
and  providence  of  God,  that  which  is  impatient  of  his  supremacy, 
his  low,  his  superintendence,  his  retribution. 

It  is  this  form  of  sin  that  is  pictured  b(^lore  us  here.  The 
world's  evil  spirit,  in  which  folly  and  mischief  are  incarnate,  is  seen 
attempting,  with  his  uplifted  bellows,  to  blow  out  the  sun,  and  ex- 
tinguish his  beams.  By  some  strange  method,  he  seems  to  suc- 
ceed, just  as  the  atheist,  by  his  bold  assertions,  may  quench  the 
light  of  truth  in  some  human  souls.     The  sun  presents  itself  as  a 


9S4 


A  LljrE    STUDY 


>  im 


11  il 


mere  disk,  omitting  but  fow  and  feeble  rays.  Man,  left  in  dark- 
ness, attempts  to  devise  a  substitute  for  the  dying  sun.  By  a 
mecliauism  of  his  own  invention,  which  ho  has  affixed  to  the  world, 
and  by  which  he  drawo  up  from  it  hidden  stores — perhaps  of 
petroleum — he  is  enabled  to  feed  the  wick  of  his  ciirious  lamp,  and 
by  means  of  its  blaze  to  create  an  artificial  day. 

The  strange  glare,  feeble  and  contemptible  compared  with  the 
sun,  utterly  insufficient  to  irradiate  the  globe,  is  so  suited  to  the 
blind  vision  of  moles,  that  they  leave  their  burrowing  and  come  up 
to  admire  it.  The  world  now  is  just  the  world  for  them.  There 
is,  at  last,  a  sun  on  which  they  can  gaze,  and  the  beams  of  which 
they  ean  bear.  To  them,  but  to  no  others,  the  experiment  is  a 
success.  They,  at  least,  will  applaud  it,  just  as  blind  sensualists 
and  conscience-smitten  souls  will  approve  the  ingenuity,  that  extin- 
guishes the  light  of  divine  truth,  and  the  terrors  of  divine  justice 
which  awed  and  frightened  them,  or  perhaps  threatened  to  dazzle 
them  blind. 

But  to  extinguish  the  sun  is  not  enough.  Conscious  guilt  asks 
for  something  more.  The  laws  of  an  eternal  justice  must  be  set 
aside,  and  the  flaming  terrors  of  the  distinction,  which  they  make 
between  right  and  wrong,  must  be  extinguished.  This  experiment, 
which  many  have  engaged  in,  is  symbolized  by  a  syringe,  worked 
by  some  unseen  hand,  which  is  playing  with  its  last  discharge  upon 
a  flaming  Sinai.  Of  course,  the  experiment  is  a  failure,  although 
it  is  entered  upon  with  professions  of  religious  devotion.  The 
syringe  itself  has  the  form  of  a  cross  wrought  out  upon  it,  intima- 
ting that  the  effort  to  extinguish  a  flaming  Sinai  is  made  in  its 
name.  It  is  as  much  as  to  imply  that  the  cross  is  so  interpreted  as 
to— logicaUy,  at  least — overthrow  the  justice  of  God. 

Happily,  no  such  designs  can  succeed.  The  bellows  of  impi- 
ety cannot  put  out  the  sun.  Artificial  torches  cannot  create  day 
for  the  soul.    A  world,  where  moles  shall  come  up  to  the  surface  to 


A    LIFE    STUDY.  ... 

take  the  place  of  men,  is  impossible.  The  law  of  eternal  justice 
can  be  set  aside  by  no  interpretation,  made  professedly  in  the  in- 
terests of  the  cross  of  Christ.  The  only  possibly  beneficial  result 
of  the  experiment  is,  to  show  the  vanity  and  folly  of  human 
projects  that  would  dispense,  either  theorotically  or  practically, 
with  the  being  of  a  God.  Every  other  result  is  mischievous,  over 
which  men  may  weep,  and  moles  exult. 

The  issue  is  made  still  more  significant,  by  the  fact  that  even 
prized  treasures  are  surrendered  in  the  experiment  to  find  a  sub- 
stitute for  the  sun,  but  the  light  of  eupid's  bow  and  quiver,  as  they 
too  consume  in  the  flame,  is  but  a  fresh  accession  to  that  of  the 
world's  taper. 

The  motto  adds  yet  another  phase  to  the  lesson.  Siehmine 
lumen  ademptum,  -  Thus  by  light,  light  has  been  taken  away."  The 
light  of  reason  and  human  philosophy  blinds  the  gaze  of  him  that 
trusts  and  follows,  to  the  Hght  of  God's  own  truth.  They  who 
scorn  the  last,  while  they  honor  the  first,  jhaU  at  length  have  none 
but  the  first  left  them. 


I 


V 


WHEN   SHALL    I    ARISE.  AN<I>THE  NIOHT  BE  QONK  '   -Job. 

[IHERE  are  instaiicea  in  which  life  becomes  a  burden  lieavy 
to  be  borne,  and  is  regarded  with  loathing.  It  cornea 
sometimes  when  men  have  grasped  the  object  of  tlieir 
ambition,  and  find  it  worthless,  crvished  like  the  butterfly  the  mo- 
ment it  is  grasped.  The  real  ends  for  which  a  man  has  lived  have 
been  attained ;  he  has  worn  his  crown  and  secured  his  laurels,  and 
finds  them  a  barren  conquest,  or  has  vainly  struggled  to  secure 
them,  and  sits  down  in  disappointment,  bordering  on  despair.  No 
rigid  moralist,  no  severe  Puritan,  abuses  the  world  as  these  men 
do.  They  feel  disgusted  with  it  themselves.  Perhaps  they  have  a 
standing  quarrel  with  it.  It  is  the  object  of  their  satire,  and  the 
butt  of  their  jests.  Few  men  have  attained  more  completely  to 
what  many  seek,  the  fame  of  ability,  wit  and  eloquence,  than  Lord 
Chesterfield ;  yet  in  the  fullness  of  his  fame,  he  turned  away  from 
che  world  in  disgust,  and  declared  his  purpose  to  sleep  out  the  re- 
mainder of  life's  journey  in  his  carriage. 

The  emblem  before  us  presents  us  a  character,  with  which  he 
might  sympathize — one  who  watches  the  waxing  and  waning 
moons,  one  to  whom  the  day  of  life  is  all  night,  illuminated  by  a 
fragmentary  moon  and  a  few  stars — one  who  lays  his  hand  on  a 


J: 


I 


■^ 


I 


$39 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


wingod  hour-glass,  and   wishes  that  tho   hours  would  fly  moro 
quickly  by. 

Above,  is  a  bunch  of  flowers — tho  narcissus,  emblem  at  once 
of  his  disease,  solf-lovo,  as  well  as  of  his  hopes — which  tho  sickle  is 
about  to  reap.  In  a  little  time  tlioy  will  bo  withered,  and  thoir 
beauty,  bloom,  and  fragrance  will  have  fled.  Beneath,  is  a  level 
hour-glass  which  indicates  how  wearily  to  him  tho  hours  drag 
along,  seemingly  motionless  as  the  sun,  which  now  remains  sta- 
tionary. If  it  has  cherished  any  hopes  of  tho  life  that  is  immortal, 
they  linger  only  for  a  moment  over  the  prostrate  glass,  and  then, 
like  the  butterflies,  haste  away.  We  seem  to  hear  his  lament  as  he 
exclaims, 

"  Tlio  branded  Blavo  that  tug:*  the  weary  oar, 
Obtains  thu  Subbnth  of  a  welcome  shore. 
Hid  ranHomcd  Btripcs  arc  healed ;  hia  Dative  aoU 
Swcetcna  tho  memory  of  his  foreign  toil. 
But  ah  I  my  sorrows  arc  not  half  so  blest ; 
My  labor  find  -<  no  point,  my  pains  no  rest, 
I  barter  sighs  for  tears,  and  tears  for  groans 
Still  vainly  rol' stones." 

This  is  the  heart-ache  ^^  ..orldliness,  weary  of  itself — its  own 
burden.  When  a  man  reaches  what  he  has  made  tho  goal  of  his 
existence,  and  finds  that  he  has  really  attained  nothing  that  can 
satisfy,  or  in  attempting  to  reach  it,  has  failed,  and  sees  further 
effort  fruitless,  he  may  well  utter  his  lament,  but  that  lament 
should  conclude  with  a  curse  on  his  own  foUy. 

"  He  builds  too  low,  who  builds  beneath  the  stars."  Let  a 
man  have  an  object,  equivalent  to  that  of  the  believer's  aspirations, 
and  let  him  pursue  it  to  the  end,  till  strength  fails,  and  tongue 
falters,  and  he  need  not  be  weary  of  it.  With  dying  breath  he 
can  promote  it  by  prayer,  and  he  may  still  have,  if  spared  in  feeble- 
ness through  wasting  years,  Milton's  consolation  in  his  blindness, 

"They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  waiU" 


i  fly  moro 

)m  at  once 
10  sicklo  is 
and  thoir 
is  a  level 
lurs  drag 
nains  sta- 
immortal, 
md  then, 
tent  as  he 


-its  own 

il  of  his 

that  can 

further 

lament 


Let  a 
rations, 
tongue 
3ath  he 
feeble- 
idness. 


he 


i 


Bow  doion  and  ivorship  ne,  tlie  tempter  taid  : 
What  a  slight  homage  this  to  gain  a  worldl 
But  can  gained  world*  redeem  a  forfeit  soul  f 


WHO  FOH  A   U0RS3L  OF  MEAT  SOL®  HIS  BIRTHJ^IGHT.  ■—Paul 


[INDOLENT  human  nature  is  here  seen,  sitting  down  in  the 
midst  of  tlie  fumes  blown  from  his  own  lips,  to  enjoy  the 
world.  Before  him  lies  a  cornucopia,  pouring  forth  its 
treasures  of  arts  and  arms,  the  fool's  cap,  before  them  all.  Here 
are  stars  of  nobihty,  charters,  and  titledeeds,  cannon  and  banner, 
and  whatever  can  attract  the  taste,  or  charm  the  eye,  or  fire  ambi- 
tion. But  the  smoker,  with  the  world  for  the  bowl  of  his  pipe,  has 
filled  it  with  the  prizes  of  avarice  and  pride.  There  are  the  waving 
plumes,  and  there  the  purse  with  loosened  strings,  from  which  the 
pieces  of  gold  are  showering  down,  wliile  his  bow  and  quiver  lie 
neglected  by  his  side,  the  easy  soul  is  puffing  away  at  his  pipe,  and 
the  smoke  rolls  aloft  and  around  him,  in  great  volumes,  till  the 
tree-tops  are  hidden,  and  the  dark  veil  threatens  to  enwrap  the 
dwellings  of  men.  AU  things  end,  or  are  wrapped  in  smoke,  as 
well  as  the  smoker  himself. 

Above,  we  see  a  butterfly  flutteiing  dangerously  near  to  the 
blazing  fumes  of  a  pipe  formed  out  of  a  globe,  into  the  open  bowl 
of  which,  a  serpent  with  a  death's  head  is  blowing  poison  that  is  to 


,r 


rii^'T 


34^) 


A   r.iFS  STirrrr 


h: 


ill 


li 


1 1 1: 
I  ■  I'  I- 


be  absorbed  by  a  human  heart,  to  whicli  the  pii)e's  stem  leads,  thus 
indicating  the  shameful  fascination,  to  which  the  butterflies  of  fash- 
ion yield,  and  the  manner,  in  which,  by  means  of  poisoned  fumes, 
the  serpent  art  of  the  Evil  one  blows  poison  into  the  human  suul. 
The  fumes  of  worldly  gratification,  are  blown  up  by  the  powers  of 
darkness,  and  are  fatal  to  spiritual  life. 

Beneath,  we  see  thi'ee  pipes,  on  which  severally  are  inscribed 
Anjentmn  (Silver),  Honor  (honor)  and  voluptas  (pleasure).  The  first 
of  these  is  crowded  to  its  full  capacity,  and  at  its  top  is  tied  with 
purse-strings.  The  second  is  elaborately  wrought  and  carved,  and 
is  supplied  with  laurel  leaves.  The  third  is  constructed  of  a  hu- 
man heart,  about  which  the  symbols  of  ease  and  pride  are  en- 
twined. 

Thus  all  worldly  pleasures  and  grandeurs  are  seen  to  end  in 
smoke.  By  a  breath,  they  are  kindled  and  consumed,  and  all  the 
results  they  leave  behind  them,  are  fumes  and  ashes.  Take  each 
by  itself,  and  see  how  like  smoke,  it  vanishes  away.  The  merchant's 
wealth  is  perhaps  held  at  the  mercy  of  the  tempest.  The  cargo 
of  the  vessel,  that  holds  it,  may  be  sunk  by  the  breath  of  the  storm. 
Ask,  and  answer  with  the  poet — 

"  What's  fame  )  A  fancied  life  in  other's  breath." 

And  as  to  pleasure — such  pleasure  as  the  world  aflfords— even  while 
it  is  enjoyed,  it  is  vanishing  away,  and  "the  banquet-hall  deserted" 
shows  how  quickly  it  has  fled,  leaving  perhaps,  only  reproachful 
and  stinging  memories  behind. 

On  a  memorable  occasion,  that  great  statesman,  Edmund 
Burke,  standing  in  the  place  from  which  his  predecessor,  had  been 
snatched  away  by  sudden  death,  exclaimed,  "  what  shadows  we 
are,  and  what  shadows  we  pursue !"  Eminent  position,  and  high 
honors,  gave  place  to  the  obscurity,  silence,  and  ignoble  tenure  of 
the  grave.  The  world's  cornucopia  of  wealth  is  but  food  for 
smoke.    Worldly  ease  can  enjoy  them,  only  by  taming  them  to 


,  I 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


t4i 


leads,  thua 
es  of  fash- 
led  fumes, 
iman  suul. 
powers  of 

iuscribed 
The  first 
tied  with 

rved,  and 
of  a  hu- 

e  are  en- 


smoke,  and  the   smoke   which  it  breathes,  is  but  the  fumes  of  its 
own  vanity  and  folly. 

And  yet  for  the  privilege  of  sitting  encompassed  for  a  little 
while  in  this  smoke,  men  toil  and  sti-ive,  turning  life  itself  into  a 
bondage,  and  storing  up,  what  must  ere  long  vanish  and  consume 
away,  and  leave  behind  it,  only  a  repulsive  odor,  or  perhaps  become 
the  medium  of  conveying  Satan's  poisonous  breath  to  the  human 
lieart.  Verily,  we  may  well  exo\ahn~Qmm  grave  Hervitum  est  qmd 
lecis  earn  parit. 


to  end  in 
id  all  the 
ake  each 
Jrchant's 
le  cargo 
.0  storm. 


>n  while 
Jserted" 
'oachful 

Idmund 
id  been 
ws  we 
id  high 
aure  of 
od  for 
tiem  to 


I' 


fi^;l 


i   ;i'i 


> 


i  I 


( 


Feeblf,  trembling,  wrak  and  worn 
Fearful,  weeping,  bleeding,  lorn, 
Unto  thee, for  help  I  call  ; 
Take  me,  hold  me,  ere  1  fall. 


■IN  MY  (DISTRESS  I  C^IE<D  UNTO  THE  LOR<X>.  AN0  HE  HE  ARID  ME.  ' 

HE  relations  of  the  world  to  the  soul  are  so  numerous  and 
varied,  that  it  is  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  bring  them 
together  in  a  single  view.  It  is  a  hollow  empty  skull, 
show  without  substance,  promise  without  fulfillment,  so  void  of  real 
weight  and  worth,  and  so  full  of  vanity  that  it  may  be  accounted 
lighter  than  a  feather.  It  is  also  a  mask,  hiding  from  the  eye 
whatever  it  covers,  cheating  the  beholder  into  the  belief  that  it  is 
itself  a  reality,  when  it  is  only  a  painted  display.  It  is,  moreover, 
a  serpent's  egg,  producing  incarnate  tempters,  possessed  of  the 
cunning  and  malice  of  their  great  prototype. 

Here  we  see  it,  while  two  serpents  are  issuing  from  it,  one  on 
either  side.  Both,  at  the  same  time,  manifest  their  temper  and 
aims,  by  turning  their  forked  tongues  and  hissing  jaws  toward  the 
soul  of  man,  which  they  seem  to  regard  as  their  helpless  prey. 
The  soul  has  flung  down  its  bow,  and  by  its  side  lies  the  broken 
arrow  that  had,  perhaps,  been  venturously  or  mischievously  di- 
rected against  the  skull  which  harbored  the  serpents.  Now  it 
sees  its  folly,  and  with  horror  depicted  on  its  features,  turns  its 
face  away  from  the  threatning  monsters,  while  its  hands  are  thrust 
toward  them,  as  if  to  prevent  their  nearer  approach. 


:'! 


I! 


;! 


£40 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


IIM 


Ih!I! 


It  is  to  this  result  that  the  soul,  which  has  simply  trifled  and 
dallied  with  the  world,  comes  at  last.  What  had  been  an  idol,  be- 
comes a  hollow  mockery.  What  had  been  a  mine  of  treasure, 
turns  out  to  bo  but  a  mere  musk.  What  has  been  accounted  a  toy 
proves  to  be  a  viper's  egg,  and  tho  soul  fuids  that  its  sportive,  ven- 
turous folly  has  simply  released  fi'om  the  hold  where  they  were 
confined,  the  vipers  that  frighten  and  threaten  to  desti'oy  it.  Sur- 
prised, a  ghost  with  fear,  trembling  with  terror,  it  can  only  depre- 
cate its  doom.  Its  arrow  lies  broken  on  the  earth,  its  bow  is 
thrown  aside,  and  even  if  it  were  otherwise,  of  what  avail  would 
they  be  against  tho  kind  of  foe  which  it  has  to  dread. 

But  what  is  the  lesson  thus  tragically,  and  impressively 
taught  ?  It  is  the  heedlessness  of  the  soul,  and  its  need  of  wisdom 
to  deal  aright  with  a  false  and  ensnaring  world.  Had  it  known 
that  world,  it  would  never  have  idolized  it.  It  would  never  have 
made  it  its  toy.  It  would  never  have  trifled  with  it,  breaking  its 
arrow  upon  its  skull,  and  startling  the  serpents  from  their  den.  It 
would  have  known  better  than  to  take  the  mask  for  a  reality,  and 
to  judge  the  world  by  the  face  which  it  presented  to  the  eye  of 
sense. 

But  this  wisdom  is  not  to  be  gained  by  the  eye.  It  must  come 
from  the  instructions  of  experience,  and  the  teachings  of  a  divine 
wisdom,  and  it  must  pass  through  the  ear  into  the  soul.  '*  Take 
heed  how  ye  hear,"  is  the  admonition  that  is  addressed  fcj  those 
who  would  not  be  fatally  deceived,  and  at  last  betrayed. 

If  we  look  below,  we  see  the  lesson  presented  in  emblem. 
The  ear  is  the  gateway  to  the  soul  that  must  be  kept  with  all  vigi- 
lance. There  is  the  key  that  should  be  turned  at  the  right  mo- 
ment, to  open  or  close  the  ear  to  the  voices  that  are  addressed  to 
it.  Let  no  deluding  whisper,  no  false  counsel,  be  suffered  to  enter, 
but  only  the  precepts  of  wisdom,  the  music  of  truth  and  duty,  and 
the  calls  of  heaven. 


rifled  and 
I  idol,  be- 
treasure, 
ited  a  toy 
tive,  ven- 
hey  were 
it.     Sur- 
ly depre- 
1  bow  is 
il  would 


'essively 
wisdom 
known 
er  have 
king  its 
en.  It 
ty,  and 
eye  of 


it  come 
divine 
"Take 
>  those 


Ij  *: 
llf 


iblem. 
1  vigi- 
it  mo- 
sed  to 
Bnter, 
',  and 


■pp 


linw  mika  in  acomt  tlumtn'r  ;     f'olitfd  vj> 
H'itliin  a  liny  seed,  harvi  sis  of  death , 

Knouyk  In  fi'.l  the  world  with  sighs  and  tfari. 
Await  onf.  heedless  act  that  sets  them  free. 


'■i 

i 


"CURSE<D  la  THE  OROUNO  FOR  'I'HY  SAKE    —Jehooah 


MOTTO  beneath  this  picture,  wo  see  as  the  key  to  its  inter- 
pretation. Uniciim  malum  crevit  in  omne  malum.  "  A  single 
evil  has  grown  into  all  evil."  Man's  original  tran.sgi*es- 
sion  was  a  seed  that  has  covered  the  world,  with  the  harvest  of  its 
curse.  On  a  background  of  tornado,  blazing  lightnings  and  balls 
of  fire,  the  globe  is  seen,  sniittrn  and  rent  by  the  lightning,  blazing 
with  flames  kindled  by  it,  and  bur.stiiig  with  pent-up,  brutal 
forces,  displaying  their  sa\uge  nature  and  infuriate  passions.  Cen- 
tral among  them  is  a  face,  only  half  human,  in  which  stupidity 
and  sensualism  evidently  triumph,  while  grouped  around  it  are 
forms  which  typify  human  propensities  and  passions,  from  thn 
pride  of  the  peacock,  to  the  ravening  of  the  vulture,  from  the  l)ug- 
nacity  of  the  cock  to  the  stealthiness  of  the  cat,  from  the  gluttony 
of  the  swine  to  the  ferocity  of  the  wolf.  Here  all  find  their  cen- 
tralization in  human  depravity,  and  represent  the  conflicting  ele- 
ments, which  that  depravity  has  let  loose.  A  single  sin  distuTDed 
the  original  hai*mony,  and  every  variety  of  mischief  is  the  result. 
What  a  contrast  to  that  scene  above,  from  which  there  comes  a 
broad  blaze  of  light  and  glory,  pouring  through  on  opening  in  the 
sky 


TP 


teo 


A    LIFE    CTUDY 


I, 


n 


fcjuch  is  tho  grand  precedent  of  guilt  which  confronts  u.s,  nt  the 
portals  of  human  history,  and  which  has  been  copied  a  thousand 
times,  in  human  experience.  Tho  first  transgression  is  like  the 
first  drop,  that  bears  before  it  a  grain  of  sand,  removing  it  from  the 
dam  that  confines  the  pent-up  waters.  The  path  is  opened  for 
other  drops,  till  the  out-rushing  torrent  sweeps  to  desolation  and 
death  nil  that  stands  in  its  way.  So  with  that  embankment  of 
principle  and  conscience,  that  holds  back  the  passions,  and  keeps 
them  in  check.  The  least  encroachment  opens  a  gap,  that  may  bo 
fatal.  The  little  sin  that  seemed  half  excusable,  for  its  littleness, 
has  proved  the  seed  of  a  great  and  ever-sproading  banyan  tree  of 
woe.  What  multitudes,  from  tho  depths  of  infamy  and  despair, 
might  verify  all  this  by  the  recital  of  their  experience  ! 

Feebly  does  brutiilizod  human  nature  discern  these  truths. 
They  do  not  lie  within  tho  range  of  its  willingly  contrasted  vision. 
But  outside  the  scene  of  mutual  repulsion,  which  at  first  attracts 
the  eye  in  the  picture,  we  see  tho  wreathing  of  the  primeval  curse. 
The  four  elements,  earth  {(rrnt),  air  («■;•),  fire  {ignin),  and  water 
(aqua),  traced  in  words  on  the  1  order,  are  all  disturbed,  and  each 
displays  its  curse.  The  earth  produces  the  deadly  serpent,  with 
his  forked  tongue,  though  tho  covenant  of  grace  has  pierced  his 
head  with  the  arrow.  The  air,  through  tho  lips  of  fierce  old  Boreas 
pours  forth  his  biting  blasts,  whether  of  heat  or  frost.  The  fire 
blazes  and  rages  with  towering  and  siu-ging  flames,  while  the 
water,  in  sheeted  torrents,  gives  premonition  of  tho  coming  deluge. 

Meanwhile,  thorns  and  briars,  with  venomous  beasts,  and 
winged  monsters  are  fitly  called  in,  to  complete  the  grouping  of  the 
picture. 

Above,  two  of  these  monsters  are  seen,  glaring  with  ravenous 
jaws  upon  the  memorials  of  human  apostasy.  There  is  the  pome- 
granate branch,  with  its  apples,  suggestive  of  Eden's  fatal  fruit, 
the  ancient  shield,  so  shaped  that  its  darkened  cavity  represents  a 


us,  nt  the 
I  thousand 
i  liko  the 
t  from  thu 
penod  for 
lation  and 
ikmeiit  of 
md  keeps 
it  may  bo 
littleness, 
n  tree  of 
I  despair, 

le  truths, 
ed  vision^ 
it  attracts 
val  curso. 
ad  water 
and  each 
ent,  with 
erced  his 
d  Boreas 
The  fire 
rldlo  the 
J  deluge. 
Lsts,  and 
ig  of  the 


A    LI^'E    STUDY. 


pel 


grave,  wlule, ho  serpent  coiled  about  tho  spado,  suggests  the  sen- 
tence that  doomed  man  to  toU,  and  leaves  hinx  still  exposed  to  tho 
subtle  arts  of  the  tempter.     Beneath,  suspended  in  a  basket,  is  a 
-nged  death's  head,  waiting  to  be  loosed  from  its  cage,  and  to  fly 
abroad  on  its  fatal  mission.     Altogether,   the  result  is  n.anifest 
The  sm  of  man  has  brought  in  death  and  discord,  and  unutterable 
woe.     Hecamu.t  rebuke  the  brute,  for  he  has  already  brutalized 
inu^seK     All  tho  discords  of  tho  world  find  their  prototype  in  tho 
discord  of  the  human  soul.     What  meets  the  eye,  where  beasts  and 
birds  of  p.ey  contend  and  devour,  is  but  the  emblem  of  what  guilt 
has  already  introduced  into  that  lost  Eden  of  the  human  spirit,  for 
nature,  disordered  and  disorganized  by  sin,  is  only  a  too  faithful 
mirror  of  what  is  exhibited  to  the  all-beholding  eye,  in  tho  unre- 
generate  and  uusanctified  heart  of  man. 


ravenous 
le  pome- 
al  fruit, 
resents  a 


yff 


%...  ■'^"""(fz/iwi""""*'''    .^^fy' 


'*•«?//.',, 


.  ;?►*•■ 


"'*^V/.,;,;,);!|.Kli;iiW»''*" 


-^  "'**%l?# 


'fr" 


Vtil  I'll/  terrors  -iliin  lln-  Mat' 
Of  their  ovfrpotceriiig  rays. 
£ltr  my  tnul,  inbtinitnmaif, 
Sinki    ilrtpairing  whilt  it  prayt. 


•S^ 


■■00<Dl3j^   C0NSUM:N0   F:RE    -Paul. 

UPEESTITIOUS  foar  ia  a  natural  growth  of  the  depraved 
heart  of  man,  or  if  originally  an  exotic,  it  has  been  intro- 
duced and  fostered  by  conscious  guilt.  It  boars  fruit  in 
misconceptions  of  God,  and  misinterpretations  of  his  providence, 
attributing  to  him  a  character  quite  akin  to  the  truth,  and  seeing 
a  flaming  sword  in  the  very  finger  of  love. 

In  this  emblem,  we  see  the  distorted  image  which  God's  prov- 
dence  presents  to  the  fearful  eye.  It  appears  as  a  savage  demon, 
with  gnashing  teeth,  horrid  mien^  eyes  flaming  with  vengeance, 
while  in  its  hand  it  grasps  the  lightning,  which  it  is  hurling  in 
wrath  at  the  head  of  some  urtseen  victim. 

But  all  this  imagery  is  the  production  of  the  foreboding  which 
guilt  excites.  It  exists  only  in  fancy,  and  a  fancy  disordered  by 
sin.  The  lowering  clouds,  from  which  Providence  seems  to  snatch 
thunderbolts,  are  but  the  dark  firmament  of  a  guilty  conscience, 
and  the  lightnings  themselves  are  the  blaze  of  light,  which  flashes 
thsough  the  chinks  of  human  consciousness  from  the  throne  of  the 
groat  Judge. 


' 


1« 


I! 


tCl  4    LIFE    STUDY 

Tills  i.i  confirmed  by  what  we  see  aL'jve.  Tlioro  is  the  dove — 
the  eiiibleui  of  iimocence,  souring  downward  from  tho  skies,  and 
making  its  way  through  the  inverted  rainbow-arch  of  heaven  to- 
ward this  lower  world,  and  yot  it  is  all  unharmed.  The  arrows  are 
flying  thick  around  it,  and  yet  th(?y  do  not  harm  it.  An  unseen 
hand,  an  invisible  guardianship,  turn  them  from  their  designed 
course,  or  bend  and  shape  them  so  that  they  are  harmless.  Not  a 
wing,  not  a  feather  of  the  wing,  of  innocence  is  even  ruffled. 

How  is  this  ?  It  is  one  of  the  mysteries  of  grace.  As  we  see 
below,  the  heart  that  is  marked  with  the  sign  of  tho  cross  jjours 
forth  its  tides  of  sorrow,  or  rather  tho  heart  of  Una  who  was  nailed 
to  the  cross  pours  forth  the  toiTents  of  love  that  quench  all  the  de- 
vouring flames  of  guilt,  or  at  least  forbid  them  to  extend,  or  do  any 
harm.  Tho  torch  still  exists,  but  it  cannot  injure  a  leaf  of  the 
plant,  on  which  tho  streams  from  the  cross-marked  lieart  fall. 

It  is  in  tho  soul  itself  that  the  hope  or  fear,  of  security  or 
terror  is  found.  The  terrible  specti'es  of  wrath  and  judgment 
pass  before  its  eye.  It  trembles  at  the  form  of  an  angry  Judge. 
It  mistranslates  his  providences  on  eartli,  and  fails  to  perceive  that 
what  demolished  r>,  chjsen  idol,  perhaps  saved  a  soul  from  a  fatal 
snare.  "  We  know  that  all  things  work  together  for  good  to  them 
that  love  God."  "  Behind  a  frowning  providence,  God  hides  a 
smiling  face."  What  seems  wrathful  or  afilictive  may  be  in  truth, 
but  the  chastisement  of  a  father's  hand.  What  appeared  an  ir- 
remediable misfortune,  is  but  the  blow  that  severs  the  threads  of  a 
net,  in  which  the  soul  might  have  been  entangled. 

It  is  only  persistence  in  evil  that  justifies  tho  guilty  fears  of  the 
soul.  Then,  indeed,  Providence  may  well  seem  to  wear  a  demon's 
form.  Then  the  heavens  may  well  gather  blackness,  and  the 
angry  lightnings  's\iy  leap  forth  from  their  frowning  folds.  The 
trembling  earth  may  seeja  itself  to  be  in  sympathy  with  the  soyl's 
terroi',  and  the  darkened  sky  may  symbolize  the  shadowed  finna- 


fi  LIFE    STUDY 


SS5 


ment  of  its  thought.  But  all  this  only  illustrates  how  terrible  in- 
finite goodness  and  purity  may  become  when  sin  has  taken  posses- 
sion of  the  soul.  Then,  indeed,  darkness  covers  the  face  of  the 
earth  and  of  the  heavens,  and  the  wisdom  of  God  appears  a  terrible 
avenger. 


i*;: 


•J 


rf- 


m^^^^M 


<: 


And  w  oiirtr.lves  compelled, 
Errn  to  the  Iff th  and/oreliead  of  our/auUt, 
To  give,  in  erid-nce. 


V     V 


■  JUDGMENT.   ALSO,    WILL  I  LAY   TO   THE  LINE,    ANT)  ^lOHTEOV!  ■ 
NESS  TO  THE  PLUMMET.  AN<J)  THE  HAIL  SHALL  SWEEP 
A  WA  Y  THE  F^FFUOES  CF  LIES  •— Isaiah. 

jjEHOLD  the  guilty  one !  He  flees  in  haste  to  hide  liimsell'. 
The  instinct  of  guilt  is  thus  led  to  show  itself.  He 
shuns  observation.  He  dreads  the  human,  and  may  w«^ll 
tremble  at  the  thought  of  an  all-boholding  eye.  The  fancies  f»f 
romance  cannot  surpass  in  strangeness,  the  stories  of  guilty  fright. 
Accusing  cries  have  been  heard,  when  there  was  nothing  to  utter 
them,  but  the  stony  lips  of  prison  walls.  The  stops  of  pursuers 
have  been  hoard,  when  only  a  leaf  rustled,  or  a  rill  munnurod. 
A  stranger's  look  has  riven  the  soul,  as  though  the  gaze  of  an  ac- 
cusing witness  had  transfixed  it.  The  (>alm  recital  of  damning  facts 
has  driven  the  color  from  the  cheek  of  the  criminal,  and  smitten 
him  insensible,  as  though  his  own  conscience  could  not  bear  the 
lingering  process  of  civil  justice. 

In  this  picture,  we  see  an  image  of  guilt,  driven  forth  from  its 
last  refuge,  in  the  cavernous  depths  of  the  earth.  Then  ho  had 
hoped  for  safe  concealment.  But  the  globe  itself  is  rent  asunder, 
and  its  flying  fragments  threaten  to  fall  on  the  criminal's  head. 
Full  of  fright,  with  his  hands  lifted  as  if  to  guard  him,  from  the 
sight  of  the  scene  that  nishes  upon  his  gaze,  he  is  left  exposed, 
without  a  place  to  flee  for  reftige,  while  the  blazing  lightnings 
above  almost  blind  his  vision. 

Wliat  has  done  all  this  ?  No  foe  is  visible.  From  an  unseen 
source,  have  come  the  signals  of  hastening  and  inevitable  retribu- 
tion.    The  heavens  above  are  covered  with  frowning  blackness, 


M 


I 


) 


i'i 


9SS 


A     LIFE    STUDY 


from  which  the  snarp,  keen  lightnings  blaze.  What  piled  their 
massive  mountains  of  wrath  ?  What  stored  them  with  tiery  ven- 
geance? It  is  the  criminal's  own  deeds  that  have  done  it.  The 
soul  has  its  own  firmament,  and  it  is  the  still  small  voice  within, 
more  terrible  than  volcanic  shocks,  that  thunders  out  the  sentence. 
It  is  the  soul's  guilty  forebodings,  that  give  it  articulate  expression. 

But  why  is  this  ?  The  soul  of  man  here  betrays  in  its  own 
experience,  that  the  grasp  of  eternal  justice  is  upon  it.  Its  fears 
start  at  the  whisper  of  an  invisible  monitor  within,  which  simply 
speaks  as  God  bade  it  speak.  It  trembles,  because  the  very  eai'th 
seems  to  shake  under  the  tread  of  guilt,  but  God  has  made  that 
tread  like  a  volcanic  touch. 

Thus  the  secret  of  guilt  is  safe  nowhere.  It  carries  the  tempest 
and  the  lightnings  with  it.  Its  very  firmament  is  roofed  with 
them,  whether  at  the  equator,  or  at  the  poles ;  whether  in  the  cave^« 
of  the  eartli,  or  on  the  mountain  tops.  How  different  the  expe- 
rience of  the  heart  conscious  of  purity,  and  winged  with  the  hope 
of  immortality.  See  its  emblem  above,  beneath  the  arch-surmoun- 
ted cross!  There,  feeble  as  it  is,  it  abides  secure.  No  lightnings 
blaze  around  it.  No  weight  can  crush  it.  It  is  eafe  under  the  shel- 
ter, that  is  like  a  pavilion  of  rocks.  God  is  himself,  its  security 
and  strength,  and  beneath  tlie  cross,  nothing  can  harm  it. 

It  is  true,  it  may  be  assaulted,  as  we  see  below.  The  arrow  of 
the  unseen  foe  has  fallen  near  it,  but  so  far  from  being  alarmed,  it 
rests  quietly  and  securely  under  the  shadow  of  the  cross.  This 
g^ves  it  wings :  this  gives  it  rest. 

"The  croM— it  takes  our  gailt  ifvruy, 
It  holds  the  fainting  spirit  ap ; 
It  cheers  with  hope  the  gloomy  day, 
And  cwceions  every  bitter  cup. 

It  makeH  the  rowani  spirit  I  rave, 

And  nerves  the  feeble  arm  for  fight ; 
It  takes  Its  Jo  rors  from  thn  ptrnvi', 
And  gilds  the  bed  of  dcatli  with  light." 


i 


piled  their 
tiery  veii- 
e  it.  The 
ce  within, 
I  sentence, 
xpression. 
n  its  own 
Its  fears 
ch  simply 
ery  eai-tli 
nade  that 

9  tempest 
led  with 
the  caves 
he  expe- 
the  hop(» 
lurmoun- 
ghtning^ 
the  shel- 
securitv 


1 


arrow  of 
inned,  it 
a.    Thia 


J'llljp.f^' 

I  s 


'i.:i 


J 


m 


I 


! 


/fi  thee  iirtst ;  tliy  word  hath  power 
To  still  the  tempest  at  thit  hour. 
In  lliee  is  health  :  the  sin-sick  soul 
By  thy  prescription  is  made  whole. 


^' 


X5  ^vM^r  K  Jj 


-STRIVE  TO  ENTER  IN  AT  THE  ST.H.VT  GATE.  --J.sus 

jLL  success  wortliy  of  the  name,  is  subject  to  certain  con- 
ditions. He  that  will  not  work,  neitlu-r  shall  ho  oat. 
Here  is  moreover  a  right  and  a  ^vr(,ng,  that  can  never  he 
made  excliangahle.  No  art  of  soi)histry  or  skill  can  do  more  than 
make  the  worse  appear  the  better  reason. 

If  wo  turn  to  the  picture,  we  shall  see   some  of  these  truths 
illustrated.     A  youth  with  doubting  look,  is  Ustening  to  the  voice 
of  an  unseen   citeaker,  who  communicates  to  him   an   unpleasant 
message.     There  he  stands,  leaning  against  a  world,  that  is  rolled 
up  against  a  very  narrow  gate,  through  which  it  can  no  more  pass 
than  "  a  camel  through  a  needle's  eye,"  and   his  face  is  turned,  so 
that  he  does  not  see  the  gate.     Nay,  the   world,  which   rises  above 
the  level  of  his  vision,  obstructs  his  sight,  so  that  even  if  he  looked 
to  the  gate,  he  would  only  discern   the  top  of  its  portal.     With  the 
simplicity  of  inexperience,   but  with  the  disinclination    to  ettort  or 
self-denial  common  to  man,  he  would  f-iin  find  an  ea.sy  path  to  hap- 
piness.    He  is  absorbed  in   considering  the  new   phase  of  the  pro- 
blem which  is  presented  by  the   words  of  the  speaker,  and  so  fixed 
is  his  attention,  that  he  does  not  even  notice  his  pet  rabbit,  feeding 
harmlessly  on  the  grass  at  his  feet. 


■f 
If 


Ut 


■JOS 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


V'Mt  through  that  gate,  there  is  a  narrow  way,  steep,  winding, 
and  difficult,  up  which  a  tortoise  is  seen  slowly  and  wearily  climb- 
ing. A  very  humble  piety,  that  can  only  creep,  is  content  thus  to 
plod  its  way,  and  with  greatest  ease  has  it  passed  through  the  con- 
tracted gateway.  But  that  path  leads  onward  and  upward  to  an- 
other, and  more  glorious  portal — the  pearly  gates.  By  the  narrow 
path  only,  can  one  enter  the  path  that  leads  to  the  lofty  entrance 
t4)  the  heavenly  mansions,  and  hence  the  message  of  mingled  love 
and  reproof;  erras,  hac  itur  ad  illam ;  "  you  make  a  mistake.  By  thia 
you  must  go  to  that." 

It  is  evidently  an  unpleasant  journey.  Sadness,  with  a  shadow 
of  mingled  doubt,  is  depicted  on  the  countenance  of  tho  youth. 
Ha  has  some  very  weighty  reasons  for  wishing  the  message  false. 
Be  is  leaning  against  the  world,  and  he  makes  it  his  idol.  He 
woidd  fain  take  it  with  him,  but  he  cannot  take  it  along  through 
the  narrow  gates,  and  if  ho  could,  he  would  still  be  unable  to  roll 
it  up  the  steep  ascent. 

There  are  moments  perhaps,  when  he  is  half  persuaded  to 
leave  all,  and  enter  for  himself  the  strait  gate.  He  seems  to  whis- 
per— 

"  Come  my  fond  fluttering  Imuri ! 

Como  Htrugglo  to  bo  free ; 

Thou  and  the  world  must  part, 

However  hard  tt  be ; 
My  trembling  spirit  owns  it  Just, 
But  cleaves  yet  closer  to  the  dusi." 

Thus  he  wavers,  hesitating  between  earth  and  heaven,  between 
the  ti'easure  here,  and  the  treasure  above.  Beneath  his  feet,  is  pic- 
tiired  the  broad  way  that  lures  him.  Through  its  narrowed  passage, 
worlds  may  meet  and  pass.  There  need  be  no  sacrifice  or  self  de- 
nial there.  But  alas  !  it  is  a  steep  descent,  and  dark  shadows  ga- 
ther over  its  ever  steepening  slope. 

Above,  the  world — which  he  that  would  enter  at  the  strait  gate 


A    LIFE    "TVDY. 


sen 


must  choose— is  seen  surrounded  with  a  heart-shaped  thorny  wreath, 
while  beneath  it  *'io  flowera  are  commingled  with  thorns.  Yet 
there  is  a  bright  and  radiant  lialo  about  tlmt  thorny  wreath,  which 
gathers  not  about  the  worlds  beneath.  It  seems  to  illustrate  the 
words  of  the  Poet — 

"  Tlio  path  of  «orrow,  and  that  path  alone, 
Lcodi  to  the  world  where  Horrow  ia  unknown." 

It  may  cheer  the  hopo  of  the  desponding,  or  doubtful,  who 
hear  the  command—"  Enter  yo  at  the  strait  gate,"  for  it  gives  assur- 
ance that  the  very  storms,  that  must  be  met  by  him  that  enters  it, 
will  be  sanctified,  and  self  denial  will  be  assured  of  its  crown. 


*r*r«. 


"■ 


V 


I 


Hfe.:^¥ 


^npP'^ 


I 


Tlifre  i'.»  a  fnuntnin  JiUeii  wilh  bloml, 
Drawn  J'riiin  Immnniirl't  veint, 

Ami  linnert  /ilnniiiil  limealh   thatjlnoil, 
Lose  all  their  yuiltij  ttains. 


I 


FOR  HE   V/Aa  CUT  Obm'  OUT   OP    THE    LANT)    Ol<'     THE   LIVINO. 
FOR  THE  TRANSQRESSION  OF  MY  PEOPLE  WAS  HE  STRICKEN." 

Ia:iiah. 

IJT  ia  only  '*  the  living  water,"  that  can  slako  tho  thirst  of 
tho  soul.  What  it  draws  from  earth  and  earthly  objects, 
is  only  tho  water  of  brackish  and  stagnant  pools — irritating 
and  provoking  its  thirst,  instead  «if  allaying  it.  And  y<>t,  it  need 
not  bo  dependent  upon  these,  for  tliero  is  accessible  to  it,  through 
divine  grace,  a  fountain  from  which  ho  that  drinks  shall  never 
thirst  again. 

Such  a  fountain  is  that  which  has  been  opened  on  Calvary. 
It  is  tho  love,  tho  redeeming  lovo  of  Christ,  gushing  forth  for  the 
world's  life,  from  all  the  bleeding  wounds  of  him  who  "  was  found 
in  faBhion  as  a  man."     Hero  lie  is  presented  before  us. 

"Scu  from  liU  teat,  liUliiuids,  his  side, 
Borrow  ami  lovo  flow  miiiglctl  down." 

Above,  wo  see  the  n(!ed  of  tho  Soul,  expressed  by  the  thirst  of 
a  wounded  human  heart,  in  which  tho  arrow  is  infixed.  The  source 
of  its  wounds  is  seen  in  a  world  where,  instead  of  a  cross  above, 
there  is  a  cross  below,  and  one  so  composed  of  arrows,  that,  ap- 
proached in  whatever  direction,  a  barbed  point  is  still  presented  to 
view.  Such  is  this  world  to  tlie  soul,  confronted  with  the  barbed 
point,  whenever  it  would  lay  hold  on  the  world,  or  worldly  treasures. 


1  . 


BH9 


4  LIFE    STUDY. 


I 


I 


I 


f 


It  cannut  handle  theso,  without  Hubjectiug  itself  to  an  infliction 
from  tlio  pain  of  which  it  muat  bo  rehoved,  und  can  only  bo  rolioved 
by  tlio  hualing  stroains  that  aro  sucn  flowing  ft)rth  at  throe  diUbrent 
points  from  the  fountain  of  the  crous.  Iluro  indtH>d,  tlie  tlireefold 
blessing  and  rofrouhment  of  the  soul  is  to  be  sought — and  found 
in  mercy,  peace,  ai^d  joy. 

If  we  look  below,  wo  see  an  open  well,  over  which  a  hoart- 
shaped  bucket  is  suspended  by  a  rope,  which,  passing  over  a  pulley, 
is  mado  fust  to  a  cross,  at  a  httle  distance  off.  If  ere  it  is  manifest, 
that  the  heart  by  means  of  the  onlinnnros,  which  nre  attached  to 
the  cro8<».  may  bo  elevated  or  depressed,  drinking  its  fill  fnira"  the 
wells  of  salvation,"  and  held,  by  moans  of  ordinances,  and  cross 
conjointly,  directly  over  the  fountain  from  which  its  wants  are  to  be 
supplied. 

Christ  indeed  is  the  fountain  of  life.  He  is  the  well  of  "  Uv- 
ing  water,"  deep,  sufficient,  inexhaustible.  What  science,  ond  Phi- 
losophy, and  human  sagacity  have  in  vain  essayed  to  give,  he  gives 
abundantly.  Tliey  can  only  stifle  for  a  moment,  tlie  cravings  of 
the  soul  that  pants  for  God,  like  "  as  the  hart  panteth  after  the 
water-brooks."  The  temporary  alleviation  which  they  afford  is 
only  followed  by  a  still  more  intense  thirst. 

But  there  is  a  fountain  that  is  inexhaustible,  a  well  of  salvation 
deep  as  the  infinite  love  of  Gk>d.  It  is  for  us  to  draw  from  its 
cooling  and  refreshing  treasiires.  Prayer  must  grasp  the  rope,  and 
in  drawing  that  down,  draw  the  water  of  life  up. 

But  the  bucket  is  the  heart,  emptied  of  itself  and  the  world, 
to  be  filled  with  the  love  of  Christ  Only  as  we  feel  our  poverty 
and  emptiness,  shall  we  be  prepared  to  receive  of  Christ's  infinite 
fullness.  Only  as  we  realize  our  ginful  pollution,  shall  we  long 
for  the  cleansing  streams. 


i 


4  I 


TROVE  AL'j  TirVOS:  HCL<D  FACT  THAI'  WHICU    :a  OOOO  ■-raui 


ACH  soul  is  called  upon  to  niako  a  mostniomontous  clioico. 
Itniayofton  eeom  to  bo  a  (hoice  botwe^en  pleasuro  and 
duty,  between  coniibrt  and  hardship,  between  what  tho 
world  can  give  and  a  lot  of  self-denial ;  but  is  really,  when  all  veils 
and  masks  are  stripped  oU",  tho  choice  between  death  and  life.  To 
one  who  knows  what  it  really  is,  tliere  in  no  occasion  for  hesitation 
or  doubt. 

Here  the  soul  is  represented  as  having  made  its  choice.  It  has 
turned  its  back  upon  sin  and  tho  world,  and  set  out  on  its  ]»ilgrini- 
age  to  tho  better  land.  But  the  associations  from  which  it  has  bro- 
ken away  are  calling  it  back.  Memories  of  pleasurable  sin,  ni^o 
it  to  linger.  The  world  puts  on  its  most  winning  sniilo,  urd  ease, 
wealth,  and  appetite,  and  earthly  friendship,  all  combine  to  urge 
it  to  change  its  purpose,  and  win  it  back  to  their  old  circles.  Tlie 
soul  hears  their  voice.  It  turns  to  look  upon  them,  although  reso- 
lute not  to  yield  to  their  charm.  Even  whilo  it  looks,  it  is  still  pres- 
sing on,  but  its  very  attitude,  with  its  hands  pointing  onward  and 
upward,  indicate  that  its  purpose  is  fixed,  that  the  object  of  its 
highest  reganl  is  before  it,  and  that  all  with  which  tho  world  can 
tempt,  is  of  no  account  by  ilie  side  of  Christ  and  the  attraction  of 
his  cross,  and  the  glory  of  his  crown.  Better  to  hurry  on  and 
walk  by  his  side  on  tho  way  to  Emmaus,  and  sit  with  him  in  sweet 


)   !! 


I 


I 


»70 


A   LIFE  STUDY. 


communion  at  the  lowly  foast,  than  bo  entlironed  with  tho  richest 
uiid  greatest  and  most  prosperous  of  tho  world. 

The  choice  is  made — the  choice  of  "the  good  part,"  yot  it  is 
not  the  choiceofpassionorof  sense.  To  many  it  seems  inexpUcable. 
It  is  uniting  one's  self — in  their  view — with  an  outcast,  with  One 
who  Ims  not  where  to  lay  his  head,  while  the  door>?  of  a  palace  are 
thrown  open  to  it,  and  it  is  invited  to  become  ito  occupant. 

But  the  secret  is  explained  by  tlie  fict,  that  the  oilgrimsoul 
waists  by  faith,  not  by  sight.  The  world's  invitations  really  repol  it. 
Under  a  mask  of  beouty  it  sees  the  hoUowness  and  en-.ptiness  of  all 
its  promises.  Tho  W(»rltt  is  really  a  sin-blighted  wovld.  lieoutiful 
to  the  outward  eye,  it  is  yet  to  the  eye  of  tlie  spirit — as  we  see  be- 
low— a  world  of  then  s  and  thistles.  All  its  paths  of  pleasure  are 
beset  with  thorns,  and  strewn  with  them,  and  the  soul,  symbolized 
by  the  winged  cross,  is  repelled  by  a  true  discernment  of  what  they 
are.  It  would  flee  away  to  a  better,  purer,  brighter  world,  where 
sin  may  not  enter,  and  thorns  and  thistles  never  grow.  Even  the 
invitation  to  which  it  listens,  is  drowned  in  the  language,  louder 
and  deeper  and  more  truthful,  which  every  scone  of  sinful  pleasure 
utters,  and  which  we  read  beneath — ami,  "  Depart,"  for  this  is  not 
ycvr  resi. 

And  this  is  re-inforced  by  the  attractions  of  that  heart  of  love 
which  is  seen  a  Jove,  let  down  from  heaven,  and  canopied  by  the 
gloiious  croivn.  That  heart  is  really  a  powerful  tiagnet,  drawing 
to  it  everj'thing  of  a  Kindred  nature.  Tlio  soul,  represented  l)y  the 
winged  cross,  w  attracted  by  it,  and  yields  to  tho  attractioi?,  and  its 
language  is  expressed  in  tho  words  beneath.     J  "en/,  "  I  have  come." 

"Judtna  I  nin,wlUioulonu  plea, 
But  that  thy  blood  wm  shed  for  mc, 
And  that  thou  btd'at  mc  come  to  tbeo 
O,  Lamb  of  Oud,  I  come." 


;lio  richest 

,"  yot  itia 
xpKcable. 
with  One 
)alaco  are 

grim  soul 
>f  repel  it. 
lesa  of  all 
lieoutiful 
e  see  be- 
isure  are 
uibolized 
hat  tliey 
il,  where 
Even  the 
9,  louder 
pleasure 
'his  is  not 

;  of  love 

by  the 

drawing 

I  by  the 

and  iH 

come." 


tm 

■( 

^B 

,1 

1 

1 

1 

! 

aL. 

1^    1 

P.'iAY  V/:TH0UT  CEACINO.  ANCD  in  EVKRYTHINO  OIVE  THANKS.' 

Paul. 


HEN  tlio  truo  blessedness  of  tho  soul  is  to  bo  oonsidorod, 
it  must  not  be  judged  by  triinsient  moods.  It  is  sonio- 
timea  "bettor  to  go  to  tlio  house  of  niouniiiig  than  to  the 
house  of  fl'iistiug."  One  that  walks  downcast,  may  see,  U[ion  the 
grains  of  sand  beneath  his  fei-t,  tho  relleetion  of  a  light  froTii 
heaven  inexpi'essibly  glorious.  It  is  to  the  huinblo  that  tho  richest 
promises  of  infinite  grace  are  made. 

Hero  we  bco  ono  apparently  dejected,  yet  with  clasped  hands, 
kneeUng  in  prayer,  while  tho  light  about  his  head  shows,  that  the 
sun  of  righteousness  really  shines  upon  him,  lh«>ugh  he  is  only 
roofed,  apparently,  with  a  firuianient  of  stars.  Before  him  is  a 
heart,  leaning,  as  if  from  fooblonoss,  pierctMl  with  arrows.  It  rep- 
resents his  own  conscious  weakness,  and  tho  paintul  wounds  that 
have  been  inflicted  upon  it  by  "  tho  fiery  darts  "  of  tho  wicke<l  one. 
Ho  has  no  help  in  himself.  His  bended  knees  and  clasped  hands 
attest  tho  energy  and  agony  of  spirit,  with  which  he  pours  forth  his 
petitions  to  the  great  invisible  Helper. 


971 


A    LIFE    STir:.-))' 


I 
I 


■  « I  I 


And  is  he  not  to  be  pitied  ?  Who,  for  a  moment,  would  sup- 
pose that  ho  was  rather  to  bo  envied  i'  And  yot  "the  High  and 
Holy  One,  that  inhabiteth  eternity,"  has  declared  his  special  regard 
for  the  liumblo  and  contrite  spirit,  and  promised  graciously  to  visit 
and  refresh  it.  Ho  has  done  it,  as  thousands  can  attest.  But  that 
is  not  all.  He  is  not  only  true  to  a  promise  made,  but  he  delights 
to  fulfill  that  promise.  If  we  look  above,  we  see  the  lofty  walls  and 
massive  battlements  of  "  a  city,  which  hath  foundations,  whoso 
maker  and  builder  is  God."  And  yet,  while  the  soul  on  earth  is 
kneeling,  heart-pierced,  and  heart-bleeding,  and  heart-broken  in 
prayer,  and  in  its  dejection  is  almost  ready  to  give  up  all  for  lost, 
there  is  seen,  flying  high  over  those  lofty  walls  to  the  very  court  of 
the  Eternal  King,  a  dove  that  bears  with  it  a  message  with  the 
simple  stamp  of  a  human  heart  upon  it,  the  most  grateful  message, 
and  the  richest  offering  that  it  can  procure  from  this  world — tlio 
only  thing  that  is  worth  bearing,  and  the  only  one  that  it  delights 
to  bt'ur  to  the  throne  of  the  Highest.  Wo  know  it  is  welcome  there. 
The  dove  is  prayer,  winging  its  flight  upward;  the  heart  is  the 
shaded,  saddened,  but  humble  and  contrito  heart  that  sends  it.  ' 

The  fruits  of  a  broken-hearted  liumility  are  seen  upon  either 
side.  On  the  right,  is  what  the  penitent  soul  turns  its  back  upon 
— the  world,  tempting  it  by  its  beauty  ond  sweetness,  its  fragrance 
and  verdure ;  on  the  left,  its  own  future  experience  is  depicted  in 
the  butterfly  emblem  of  immortal  hope,  feasting  upon  fruit  and 
flowers,  to  be  found  about  the  thorn-wreath,  while  the  fools-cap 
beneath  the  crucifix-world  shows  the  triumph  of  a  gracious  spirit, 
over  all  tlie  vanities  of  earth. 

To  complete  the  lesson,  we  need  only  to  look  l)eneath,  and  see 
the  strung  bow  and  the  quiver,  from  which  an  arrow  has  been 
drawn  and  discharged.  At  the  base  of  that  quiver  is  a  heart,  and 
it  is  the  heart — pierced,  perhaps,  and  bleeding — that  is  the  base  of 
the  activity,  and  heroism,  and  endurance  of  the  Christian  soldier. 


jM    I.Ih'iC    HTUDY. 


t^iyr 


Ho  ™e,  fe„  h„  k„eo.,  his  pi„„ed  heart  rejoicing  i„  „„  h„„,i„^ 
l»WBr  of  <bv,n„  grace,  „„d,vi,h  full  p„r,„so  .o  do  „„,!  endure  a! 
never  before  Now  from  „  f,,,,  quiver,  the  «,ul  will  draw  forth  it, 
arrowy  and..,  how  .hall  ever  ho  ..rung.  I.  will  fig,.,  .he  good 
M.  of  f„,.h,  manfully  ,o  «,„  end.  I.  .„„,1  find  ,l,a.  L  dark  ho^ 
wa,  .ha.  ,„  wh„.h  Ood  led  i.  „,y.fcri„„»ly  in.„  ,,,  „„„  .,„,„,  J 

r  Ti    "  "■" """ ""»°"''''"  »'"'i"'«»».  i»  which  hi, 

.toeng.h  should  be  mad.,  porfoct. 


#>-' 


! 


'■  EVEl^Y  MANS  WORK  SHALL  HE  JKAOE  IJIAUIFKST  ■-Piu. 

HERE  is  Ruoh  a  tliliif?  n»  Bolf-rownrdinp  toil,  and  thoro  is 
also  a  Holl-rownrdiii^  devotion.     Indci-d,  tnit-  i>i»«ty  is  ovrr 
its  own  rowurd.    Toil  itsidl'  Itct'oiuos  ii  jdoasun'  \\\wn  it  is  a 
tributo  of  lovo  or  jn-aiso. 

Tiiis  is  horo  ilhistratod  liy  tlio  iticturo  ol'  a  soul,  jumviiij;  I'ortli 
its  (Minu'st,  {^lowiii{5  desires — dosircs  tliat  Kooni  to  the  «>yo  aliiio.st  to 
fluiuo  a«  they  aru  ntterod.  They  fall,  indeed,  upon  the  heart,  pierce 
it,  and  wake  its  Hloej)in}>;  liri's.  The  residt  is  that  it,  too,  is  in- 
flamed with  lovo,  u  lovo  that  niouutH  up  toward  huaveu,  ruuiinding 
us  of  thu  lines, 

"  UlviTB  lo  tlic  iiciiiti  nin, 

Norwiiiy  111  iill  lluir  courBr  ; 
Kii'K  itHocMiluiu  Ki'i'kM  the  Htm, 

Ilutli  ii|)(H!il  tlit'iii  to  tlirir  Hoiiri'i'. 
Ho  II  luul  tliut'n  l.orii  of  Ooil,"  Ac. 

Onn  roRUlt  of  this  is  pictured  above.  There  wo  boo  a  Horn  an 
lanip,  with  th<»  llanie  risin;:;  from  the  wick  of  a  rn)8s,  indicating;  the 
8t»'a(ly  uniformity  of  the  iiro  of  love  which  in  the  soul  mu.st  never 
go  out,  and  the  imu)nsumable  nature  of  the  soul's  allections  which 
bum  without  wasting  away,  and  at  the  same  time  feed  an 
illuminating  llanio,  the  light  of  which   falls  full  upon  tho  butterfly. 


B 


I 


r.ro 


A     LIFE    i^TVDY 


emblem  of  iiumortul  liopo.  But  this  butterfly  is  licart-shaped,  in- 
dicating the  liuiuun  tentiornn.'ss  by  wliich  it  is  chunictemed,  and  it 
pours  furth,  also,  teur-drops  oi'pmittMit  Borrow,  which  shiijio  tlient- 
Helves  into  jewrls  n.s  they  full.  So  prt'cioua  are  the  drops  of  con- 
trite sorrow,  from  tho  hi'iirt  nninmtcd  by  the  hope  of  ininiortulity, 
when  tliat  hope  is  lighted  up  and  luiido  visiMo,  or  oven  glorious,  by 
tlie  ilauio  of  the  soul's  desires  kindling  around  the  cross  of  Ohrist. 

But  there  is  also  another  result  to  be  noted,  Avhich  is  syui- 
bolized  b«'neath.  Tho  firo  of  the  bouI's  devout  love  is  hero  seen  in 
a  conser,  which,  while  it  sends  up  its  sweet  incense  to  lieuvon,  is 
covered  by  a  gnito  which  sn[tport8  the  «trong  vessel  of  tho  refiner 
in  which  ho  is  purifying  tho  spirit,  and  purging  awuy  its  dross ; 
and  this  process  is  to  go  forward,  till  tho  wingccl  heart,  which  is 
seen  sctaring  above,  cim  look  down  on  tho  molten  mirror  beneath, 
and  8oe  its  own  image  reflected  there. 

And  this  is  tlio  glorious  result  to  'which  all  tends.  The  breath, 
of  the  soul's  own  devotion  is  to  feed  the  flame  that  lights  the  incense 
and  heats  tho  furnace — the  incense  that  is  to  be  its  swec^t  and  fra- 
grant offering,  and  the  furiuice  in  whif^h  its  own  dross  is  to  be 
purged  awuy,  until,  from  the  smooth  surface,  it  can  itself  bo  seen 
pure,  free  from  spot,  or  wrinkle,  or  any  such  thing. 

It  is  true  that  God  worketh  within  us  to  will  and  to  do.  Tho 
lire  that  burns,  and  all  the  laws  that  control  it,  aro  His.  Tho  trib- 
ute of  tho  incense,  and  the  metal  itself  which  is  to  bear  his  image, 
aro  his.  ]5ut  he  has  made  the  soul  itself  responsible  for  those 
breathings  of  prayer  and  praise  which  call  down  tho  iiro  from 
heaven,  and  which  blow  up  tho  llame  of  devotion,  and  aninuite  it 
in  the  human  heart.  liOt  this  be  done — done  oven  anew — and  de- 
votion is  the  pori^otual  Konmn  lamp,  lighting  up  the  hope  of  im- 
mortality that  glistens  through  tears,  and  heating  the  furnace  in 
which  tho  soul's  dross  shall  be  finally  and  forever  puiged  away. 


Iiapod,  in- 
!0(1,  and  it 
ipo  tliom- 
[»i  of  con- 
iiiortulity, 
•riouM,  by 
of  Christ. 
I  is  syni- 
0  Boi'u  in 
"iivon,  18 
3  rofinor 
i  dl•n^ss ; 
wliic-li  is 
boneath, 

>  breath 
incense 
md  fru- 
8  to  be 
bo  seen 


.    The 
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Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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"  WHO  AGAINST  HOPE  BELlEVEl)  IN  HOPE.- Paul, 

ERE  we  have  presented  to  our  view,  a  most  expressive  em- 
blem of  the  relation  of  the  soul,  not  so  much  to  the  body, 
as  to  the  carnal  nature  that  is  fitly  associated  with  it.  We 
see  the  grim  form  of  a  skeleton,  its  lower  limbs  crushed  or  wasting 
away,  but  the  upper  portion  assuming  an  attitude  of  ease  and  quiet 
indifference  to  all  things  within  or  without.  The  head  rests  against 
the  skeleton  fingers  of  one  arm,  which  is  supported  by  a  notch  in 
the  rock  to  which  the  elbow  is  adjusted  while  the  other  arm  is 
supported  by  the  wrist  braced  against  the  ribs,  and  the  whole  ex- 
pression of  the  figure  is  that  of  perfect  composure,  forbidding  all 
prospect  of  movement,  or  change  of  position. 

Meanwhile  a  child,  the  youthftil  emblem  of  the  immortal 
spirit,  is  imprisoned  in  the  skeleton,  as  in  a  cage  from  which  it  is 
struggling  to  be  free.  We  see  it  reaching  out  its  hand,  if  possible, 
to  grasp  some  object  by  means  of  which  it  may  attain  its  desire. 
But  the  effort  is  vain.  It  cannot  reach  even  the  cold  hard  rock, 
upon  which  the  skeleton-elbow  rests,  and  it  cannot  break  through 
the  ribbed  bars  of  its  cage.  It  needs  no  great  effort  of  imagination 
to  fancy  that  we  hear  the  soul,  in  ouch  circumstances,  exclaiming, 
"  O  wretched  man  that  I  am ;  who  shall  doliver  me  from  the  body 
of  this  death  ?  "  It  is  even  thus  tliat  the  ojipressod  spirit  sighs  for 
deliverance  from  that  carnal  nature  to  which  it  is  bound,  or  rather 
within  which  it  is  imprisoned.     When  it  would  soar,  its  wings  are 


i 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


fTiuiiped  and  confined  by  the  walls  of  its  prison-Jnouse.  The  con- 
stant burden  of  a  sinful  and  depraved  nature  bears  it  down  to  the 
earth,  and  this  burden,  even  after  long  and  frequent  effort,  it  finds 
itself  unable  to  shake  oS. 

And  yet,  this  is  no  singular  or  rare  experience.  **  The  whole 
creation  groaneth  and  travaileth  together  in  pain  until  now."  It  is 
waiting  and  longing  for  its  complete  deliverance.  Indeed,  if  we 
see  above,  the  world  itself  may  be  compared  to  a  globular  skeleton, 
the  living  element  within  it  struggling  to  be  free,  and  vainly  beat- 
ing like  an  imprisoned  bird  against  the  bars  of  the  cage. 

Looking  below,  we  see  a  skeleton  hand  thrust  up  from  be- 
neath, and  through  a  chaplet  of  flowers,  grasping  the  wing  of  a 
struggling  dove,  emblem  of  innocence,  and  holding  it  fast.  It  i.s 
thus,  that  even  those  who  are  personally  guiltless,  are  involved  in 
the  consequences  of  the  primeval  curse.  The  hand  of  death  is  laid 
upon  the  wing,  as  it  were,  of  every  moving  thing  that  has  the 
power  to  soar,  and  holds  it  fast  in  its  relentless  grasp. 

Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  design  of  God  in  leaving  the 
soul  to  struggle,  oftentimes,  almost  helplessly,  against  the  carnal 
nature,  we  can  readily  see  the  importance  of  the  lessons  that  are 
taught  by  that  struggle,  and  the  spirit  in  which  the  soul  should 
welcome  the  prospect  of  a  final  triumphant  release.  It  is  not  in 
vain  that  it  is  left  to  groan  and  strive  beneath  the  burden.  It 
needs  to  know  and  feel  what  that  carnal  nature  is,  and  what  an 
enemy  it  is  to  peace  and  hope.  It  needs,  too,  tho  discipline  of  the 
effort  for  deliverance  which  it  is  constrained  to  put  forth,  that  under 
the  conscious  feebleness  of  its  endeavors,  it  may  look  up  to  (iod, 
and  seek  at  his  hand  the  freedom  which  can  be  wrought  by  his 
omnipotent  grace  above.  Let  tliis  be  done,  and  ere  long  the  sigh 
is  exchanged  for  the  song, 

"  Then  are  we  free ;  then  liberty,  like  day,  * 

Breaks  on  the  kouI,  and  by  a  light  from  heaven 
FlrsB  all  the  foculties  with  glorious  Joy." 


u 


/^ 


:  •/  THE  ©^  Y   OF   PR08PEHITY  BE  JOYFUL.   BUT  IN   THE  CDA  Y  OF 
AQVERSITY  CONSIDER  --Solomon. 

SAINTLY  sufferer,  reduced  from  prosperity  and  abundan(,.c 
to  affliction  and  want,  was  observed  to  bo  apparently  as 
happy  and  cheerful  as  he  was  noted  for  being,  in  what 
the  world  would  have  called,  his  better  days.  Ho  was  asked  the 
reason  of  this.  His  reply  was  memorable-"  Before,  I  enjoyed  God 
in  all  things;  now,  I  enjoy  all  things  in  God."  How  kindred  a 
spirit  like  this  to  that  which  once  breathed  forth  the  precious 
words-"  Whom  have  I  in  heaven  but  thee,  and  there  is  none  upon 
earth  that  1  desire  beside  thee." 

We  have  here  a  picture  of  the   Soul  enthroned  in  the  great 
heart  of  Love,  resting  there  peaceful  and  content,  its  outspread 
arms  and  open  hands  indicating  its  consciousness  of  its  royal  do- 
main, insomuch  that  whether  high  or  low,  rich  or  poor  in  the  es- 
teem of  men,  it  has  a  wealth,  proportioned  to  its  desires,  to  which 
nothing  need  be  added,  and  from  which,  nothing  can  be  taken 
away.     Its  countenance  betokens  inward  peace,  and  at  the  same 
time  the  assurance  that  it  has  nothing  to    fear.     Perhaps  we  are 
warranted   in  imagining  that  its  eye  now  rests  upon  that  grand 
warrant  of  faith  and  charter  of  hope,  "we  know  that  all  things 
work  together  for  good  to  those  that  love  God." 

It  is  that   assurance,  addressed  to  the  beUeving  spirit,  that 
sanctions    the  idea  suggested  by  the  emblems  that  we  see  above. 


rca 


A  LIFE    STUDY 


I' 

I    ' 


lit' 
I  '* 


iii 


i ' 


There  U  the  ink-stand,  crowned  with  a  heart,  Avhile  two  pens  cross 
one  another  as  they  rest  upon  the  former,  intimating,  that  it  is  at 
the  soul'3  option  to  take  what  pen  it  will,  and  write  down  what  it 
chooses,  as  tlie  inventory  of  that  treasure, — infinite  and  inexhaus- 
tible— "  all  things  are  yours." 

*         "  Ho  looks  nhcad  over  the  ample  field 
Ut  N:itun',  nnd  though  poor  perhnpii, 
Compared  with  those  vrhoee  mansions  glitter  in 
His  Bight,  calls  the  delightful  scenery  all 
His  own. 

Are  they  not  his  by  a  peculla'-  right, 
And  with  an  emphasis  of  interest  his, 
Whose  eyes  they  fill  with  tears  of  holy  love, 
Whose  heart  will  praise,  and  whoso  exalted  soul, 
With  worthy  thoughts  of  that  unwearied  love 
That  planned  and  built  and  still  upholds  a  world, 
Bo  filled  with  beauty  for  reheliious  man." 

Such  a  soul,  proprietor  under  God  of  the  wealth  with  which  his 
love  endows  it,  can  say  like  the  lofty  minded  philanthropist,  John 
Howard — "  my  happiness  is  not  dependent  on  heres  and  theres." 
It  has  tasted  of  such  joys  as  the  world  knows  nothing  of,  and  com- 
pared with  which  the  most  rich  and  varied  pleasures  the  world  can 
offer,  are  of  no  account.  It  turns  aside  therefore  from  the  stag- 
nant pool  to  the  living  spring,  from  the  empty  show  and  pageants 
of  this  visible  scene  to  the  sweet  and  yet  sublime  realities  which 
it  has  learned  to  prize  in  communion  with  heaven. 

Beneath,  we  see  a  letter  sealed  with  the  impress  of  a  heart 
that  encloses  a  cross  on  which  a  butterfly  has  aUghted.  The  seal 
indicates  that  the  deUberately  chosen  portion  of  the  soul  is  to  share 
with  Christ  that  burden  of  the  cross,  which  is  inseparably  associated 
with  the  hope  of  immortal  life.  In  the  fixedness  of  its  choice  it 
can  say — as  we  see  stamped  upon  the  letter — munde  vale  et  vale, 
"  0,  world !  farewell  and  farewell." 


8S 

at 
it 

a- 


I 


i'f 


iSmr^*-'' 


For /if  on   hniiryilnu  hatli  /<-f/, 
And  drunk  Ihf  milk  of  Paradisr. 

(Coliridgp 


'7i- 


-yT 


••  nV  My  FA  THER  S  HOUSE  Af^E  ItANY  MANSIONS.  ■■-Jsbu. 

lOOKING  upon  tl.ia  picture,  we  see  it  is  designed  to  ropro- 
I  sent  the  two  diverse  and  opposing  forces,  to  the  action  of 
which  the  soul  of  man  is  subjected  here  on  earth.  We 
see  the  spirit  spreading  its  wings  in  order  to  soar  aloft,  and  it  has 
akeady  begun  its  upward  iliglit.  But  by  a  chain,  which  it  cannot 
break,  it  is  held  down  fast  to  the  world,  and  can,  therefore,  only 
nsefar  enough  to  show  toward  what  it  aspires,  and  at  the  same 
time  manifest  the  reaKty  and  strength  of  its  bondage. 

There  is,  indeed,  a  power  in  the  soul's  earthly  connections  and 
associations,  which  counteracts  the  force  of  its  better,  and  higher 
aspirations,  and  chains  it  fast  to  a  lower  sphere.  It  may,  indeed, 
sing  to  itself, 

"  Know  my  soul  thy  full  salvation, 
Rise  o'er  sin  and  fear  and  care ;"' 

and  yet  the  very  attempt  brings  it  to  a  consciousness  of  what  it  has 
to  contend  with— earthward  tendencies,  inherent  in  the  union 
which  exists  between  it  and  the  body.  It  must  contend  with  "pas- 
sions every  hour  at  strife;"  with  appetites  and  sensibilities  which 
give  to  sensual  and  visible  objects  an  exaggerated  and  unwarranted 
power.  When  on  meditative  wing  it  would  soar  upward  to  the 
world  of  light,  images  of  worldly  pleasure,  visions  of  worldly  hope, 


mimm 


MO 


A     LIFE    CTUDY 


M 


momorios  of  worldly  stilioiiu^s,  prospocts  of  worldly  ^Jjiiiii  conio 
thronging  around  it,  and  obHtruct  its  way,  or  cloy  its  wings,  till  it 
it)  roudy  Homotinies  to  dtrnpond  and  duupair. 

And  yot,  this  antagonism,  inherent  in  the  compound  nnd  de- 
praved nature  of  umn,  is  not  without  its  use.  It  has  lessons  for 
the  soul,  full  of  instruction,  teacliing  it  at  once  its  ciipabilitios  and 
its  infimuties,  and  impelling  it  to  that  wrestling  with  opposing  in- 
fluences, which  is  necessary  to  its  heavenward  progress,  and  its 
emancipation  from  the  power  of  time  and  sense.  "We  may  see  this 
illustrated  as  we  look  above,  and  see  the  string  of  a  kite,  made  fast 
to  the  world,  while  to  the  tail  of  the  kite,  the  w  eight  of  a  cross  is 
appended.  There  are  cates  whore  this  fleshly  nature  is  so  kept 
in  subservience  to  the  spirit,  that  it  even  seems  to  contribute  to  its 
upward  flight.  The  soul  is  disciplined  by  the  partial  bondage  in 
which  it  is  held  by  **  things  seen  and  temporal,"  whicU  appeal  to 
the  senses  and  appetites,  while  even  every  heavenly  wind  that 
breathes  upon  it,  carries  it  upward  with  still  more  earnest  and 
loving  desires,  whispering, 

"  RUo  my  houI,  and  xprcad  thy  wtngg, 
Tliy  butter  portion  trace ; 
Rise  from  transitory  things, 
Toward  hcaren,  thy  native  place." 

But  in  that  case  the  cross  must  be  appended  to  the  kite ;  the 
soul  must  know  that  it  is  to  bear  its  burden,  and  to  follow  Christ. 
Else  it  would  only  attain  to  a  fluttering  flight,  and  soon  fall  hope- 
lessly back  again,  or  even  be  dashed  to  the  earth. 

But  tliere  is  still  another  lesson  to  be  learned.  We  see  below 
the  butterfly  made  fast  to  the  world,  and  yet  struggling  to  break 
the  cord  by  which  it  is  bound  down  to  it.  It  is  the  hope  of  immor- 
tal life  within  the  soid,  aspiring  to  its  native  skies.  It  cannot  be 
content  to  alight  and  abide  below.  It  belongs  to  another  and 
higher  sphere  to  which  it  is  impelled  to  ascend. 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


ro; 


And  yot,  all  its  htrongf  li  and  energy  am  un«fi„ul  to  tl.o  task 
of  breaking  the  cord.  It  risos  to  a  certain  point,  but  thoro  inH 
limit  to  ita  flight.  There  must  bo  for  it  a  divine  help,  if  it  w<.uld 
secure  it,  release.  A  divine  hand  must  sever  that  cord  and  enmn- 
cipate  the  spirit,  and  that  divine  hand  must  be  recognized  in  the 
heavenly  grace  in  which  the  soul  triumphs  at  last,  exclaiming,  as 
the  cord  IS  severed,  and  the  burden  of  the  flesh  and  its  appetites  is 
left  behind, 

"  I  mount,  I  fly ; 
O  grave,  where  is  thy  victory  I 
O  dtuth,  whcro  ia  tliy  iting )  •» 

There  is  no  doubt  also  that  there  are  considerations  which 
may  legitimately  draw  the  soul  backward  to  earth-the  need  of 
labor  and  self-denial,  for  a  sinful  world-the  cares  and  anxieties 
that  may  befall  perishing  souls,  the  ministries  of  love  and  pity 
which  are  here  to  be  discharged ;  and  in  such  a  case  the  soul  nmy 
be  hke  Paul,  "in  a  strait  betwixt  two,"even  while  it  has  «'  a  desire 
to  depart,  and  be  with  Christ,  which  is  for  bettor." 


■^^ipBPiiW 


Serene  will  Of   our  (lays  and  bright 
And  happy  will  our  nature  be, 

M'hen  lore  ts  an  unerring  light, 
And  joy  its  oivn  security. 

Woidbworlli. 


pU-!'*«r-^ 


.^, 


-BESm  FILLECD  WITH  THE  FRUITS  OF  RIOIITKOUSNESS    -Paul 

|AID  the  psalmist,  "Itia  good  for  me  tliut  I  have  been 
afflicted,"  but  of  all  afflictions  there  are  none  wliich  are 
so  fruitful  of  good  to  the  soul  as  those  which  humble  its 
pride,  and  mortify  its  sinful  affections.  Tlien  the  apparent  loss  is 
a  roal  gain,  and  only  gain.  The  pain  and  smart  of  surrendering  a 
perverse  will  are  but  the  agony  of  the  birth  to  a  new  life. 

Here  one  is  seen  contemplating  the  shrub,  with  its  fruit,  that 
has  sprung  up,  rooted  in  a  heart  that  has  been  smitten  and  pierced 
by  the  arrow  of  conviction.  That  heart,  instead  of  being  slain,  and 
becoming  as  a  dead  thing,  puts  forth  the  evidence  of  a  new  life.  It 
sends  up  a  stem  from  wliich  fairest  fruits  are  seen  to  depend,  which 
the  soul  itself  may  pluck  and  eat.  These  fruits  are  the  medita- 
tions, and  hopes,  and  even  raptures,  wliich  the  spirit,  cast  down  in 
its  own  esteem,  experiences  in  leaning  upon  Christ. 

If  we  look  above,  we  shall  witness  the  transforming  power 
which  the  humbled  soul  seems  to  be  invested  with,  even  on  earth. 
The  whole  broad  face  of  nature  is  covered  with  abloom  and  beauty, 
such  as  it  never  wore  before,  while  above,  and  surmounting  all,  the 
very  leaves,  and  stalks,  and  thorns,  shape  themselves,  as  it  were, 
unconsciously,  into  the  form  of  a  cross,  as  if  to  put  the  soul  in  per- 
petual memory  of  its  crucified  Redeemer,  and  teach  it  that, 

"Tliere'B  not  a  plant  or  flower  below, 
But  makes  bis  glories  known;" 


iii 

ii'l 


■H 


te4 


-'!    LIFE    STUDY. 


t     i: 


ft 


or  in  the  sweet  worJs  of  Keble, 

"  There's  not  a  strain  to  memorj-  dear, 

Or  flower  of  classic  grove ; 
There's  not  a  sweet .  ote  warbled  here, 
But  minds  mo  of  Thy  love." 

On  either  side,  we  see  the  same  symbols  which  •^e  meet  else- 
where, indicative  of  the  sacrifices  and  the  hopes  which  attend  upon 
the  life  that  has  experienced  tlie  convicting  power  of  the  truth  J 
while  beneath,  we  are  reminded  of  the  tree  of  life,  by  the  multi- 
plicity of  the  fruit  borne  by  a  branch  that  draws  its  life  from  tho 
knowledge  of  Christ.  If  there  are  not  "twelve  manner  of  fruits," 
there  is  a  wonderful  diversity,  unfolding  the  rich  experience  of  the 
renewed  heart — that  heart  that  was  smitten,  but  has  been  healed 
by  the  great  physician.  There  is  the  fruit,  symbolized  by  ''  the  key 
of  knowledge;"  by  "the  bottle,"  in  which  God  treasures  up  the 
tears  of  his  saints,  attesting  his  guardian  and  sanctifying  grace  ; 
by  the  robe  of  righteousness,  in  which  the  new-bom  soul  is  clothed 
from  Christ's  wardrobe ;  by  ;He  chair,  in  which  it  sits  to  judge  the 
vanity  of  tJie  world ;  by  the  hour-glass,  through  which  it  is  seen  to 
understand  the  meaning  of  a  fleeting  probation ;  and  by  the  leaves, 
which  set  forth  the  bread  of  heaven  upon  which  it  is  fed. 

Thus,  the  smitten  heart,  like  the  smitten  rock  of  the  wilder- 
ness, pours  forth  streams  of  blessing.  It  is  a  fountain  which  grace 
has  opened,  the  rivulets  of  which  will  make  the  desert  smile.  It 
experiences  a  repentance  not  to  be  repented  of.  It  can  even  exult 
in  all  its  pains  and  anguish.     It  can  say, 

"  O  Lord,  to  me  in  mercy  give. 
For  sin  the  deep  distress. 
The  pledi^e  thou  wilt  at  last  mccive. 
And  bid  rae  die  in  peace." 

Its  wound  is  its  wealth.  Its  pangs  are  sanctified.  The  world, 
that  is  seen  in  the  rainbow  light  of  tears,  is  a  world  more  beautiful 
than  meets  the  eye  of  giddy  mirth.  The  flowers  that  are  watered 
by  a  divine  sorrow,  bloom  with  an  amaranthine  fra^ance. 


■wip— — — I— 


m. 


Tkere  i.s  a  calm  for  those,  who  weep, 

A  rest  for  weary  pilgrims  foutid  ; 
And  while  the  mnuliiering  ashes  shri, 
Low  in  the  ground. 

Montgoraery. 


■  THE  WHOLE  HEAD  IS  SICK.  AN®  THE  WHOLE  HEART  FAINT.  " 

Isaiah. 

|N  the  present  scene,  the  soul  finds  itself  subjented  to  condi- 
tions of  struggle  and'  hardship  wliich  often  seem  to  it 
almost  intolerable.  It  is  not  only  that  there  are  discord- 
ant elements  within  itself,  or  that  the  world  is  "no  friend  to 
grace,"  but  that  the  very  union,  which  subsists  between  it  and  tho 
body,  seems  to  subject  its  vanity,  and  impel  it  to  sympathize  with 
"  the  whole  creation,  groaning  and  travailing  in  pain  together  uutU 
now.     It  is  in  reference  to  this  that  Cowper  says, 

"  Chains  are  the  portion  of  ruvolted  man, 
Stripes  and  a  dungeon ;  and  his  body  sencs 
Tho  triple  purpose.     In  that  foul, 
Opprobrious  residence,  lie  finds  them  all." 

Here  we  see  the  soul  held  a  prisoner  in  the  hollow  framework 
of  a  globe,  and  yet  stretching  out  its  wings,  restless  as  the  impris- 
oned bird,  in  its  eagerness  to  be  free.  But  it  is  a  prisoner  still. 
Turn  where  it  may,  it  is  still  confronted  with  the  bars  of  its  cage. 
It  is  a  prisoner  to  things  of  time  and  sense.  It  is  under  the  neces- 
sity of  providing  for  the  wants,  or  of  holding  in  check  the  lusts 
of  the  perishing  body.  Again  and  again,  it  is  made  to  feel  that  it 
is  its  slave  and  drudge. 

But  sometimes  the  world  is  to  it— as  we  see  above— like  a 
spider's  web,  in  which  its  butterfly  wings  are  entangled,  till  its  hope 
of  immortality  grows  weak  and  exhausted,  and  can  only  flutter  to 


I     1 


pes 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


\  ■ 


I 


little  purpose.  Or,  if  it  has,  indeed,  set  its  affections  on  things 
above,  and  aspires  toward  its  unseen  heavenly  blessedness,  it  finds 
itself  hampered — as  we  see  below — by  a  thousand  untoward  in- 
fluences that  shape  themselves  into  a  cage,  where  its  hopes  are 
cramped  and  imprisoned,  and  where  it  finds  itself  unable  to  abide 
content.  The  heart,  indicating  the  seat  or  object  of  the  affections, 
is  outside  the  cage,  and  the  prisoner  can  never  rest  till  it  can  reach 

it. 

It  is  thus  that  the  innate  and  irrepressible  longings  of  the  soul 

testify  at  once  to  the  original  dignity  of  its  nature,  and  the  hard 

conditions  to  which,  in  connection  with  its  union  with ,  the  body,  it 

has  been  reduced  by  sin.    It  can  be  content  here,  only  as  the  caged 

bird  is  content,  by  the  suppression  of  its  soaring  instincts,  or  that 

discipline  of  despair  which  comes  from  the  vain  beating  of  its  wings 

against  the  bars  of  its  cage.     To  urge  it  to  be  content  with  earth, 

is  to  urge  it  to  suppress  that  instinctive  restlessness,  which  is  forever 

reminding  it,  "  This  is  not  your  rest," 

"  The  8ouI  uneasy  and  confined  at  home, 
Rcfts  and  expatiates  in  a  life  to  come." 

It  looks  abroad,  and  feasts  the  eye  of  its  eager  hope  on  the  pros- 
pect of  final  and  complete  deliverance.  Meanwhile,  its  experience 
is  a  prison  experience.  As  it  flutters  from  one  side  of  its  cage  to 
the  other,  it  seems  to  pass  back  and  forth,  from  reason  to  faith,  and 
faith  to  reason ;  from  doubt  to  confidence,  and  from  confidence  to 
doubt;  from  fear  to  hope,  and  from  hope  to  fear,  till  weary  of 
merely  changing  its  perch,  it  sighs  more  and  more  earnestly  for  its 
full  and  complete  redemption,  from  the  thraldom  oi  sense  and  sin. 
How  does  this  remind  us  of  Blair's  description  of  the  sanctified 
spirit,  longing  after  the  unseen  blessedness, 

"  High  in  his  faith  and  liopcs,  boc  how  he  reaches 
Toward  the  prize  in  view,  and  like  a  bird 
That's  hampered,  struggles  hard  to  get  away, 
Whilst  the  glad  gates  of  Bigii  tare  wide  expanded 
To  let  new  glories  In ,  the  first  fair  fruits 
Of  the  fast-  oraing  harvest." 


Sharp  misa-y  hath  wont  him  to  the  hones. 

Sliiikspcarc. 


-UTS  BOT1II.Y  PRESENCE  IS  WEAK.  '■-F„ul 

IHEEE  are  many  depressing  influences  ngainrt  wluoh  ,he 
soul  under  its  burden  of  fle,h  must  necessarily  strive 
We  can  scarcely  be  suprised  that  one  like  Paul  shoul.l 
bng  to  be  dissolved  and  to  "  be  with  Christ."  "Thespiriti,  indeed 
-lhngbuttheflesh.,weak."  Such  is  the  „„t  infrequent  experience 
of  many  that  would  Rladly  watch  with  the  Master,  through  "  the 
hour  and  power  of  darkness,"  but  fall  asleep  at  their  posts 

We  see  an  illustration  of  a  certain  phase  of  this  experience 
here     The  soul  is  represented  as  doomed  to  a  most  uncongenial 
hab.tat,on-to  tenant  the  bedy,  and  drag  about  with  it  the  shell  of 
a  snrnl.    The  conscious  sadness  of  its  lot  is  depicted  upon  it,  fea- 
tares,  when  it  would  willingly  fly  on  its  heavenwarf  career,  when 
It  would  fa.n  leave  doubt  onddifflculty  and  danger  behind  it,  it  can 
only  ^ep  along  at  a  snail's  pace.    The  weeks  and  days  and  hours 
drag  heavily,  and  with  a  most  reluctant  acquiescence  does  it  submit 
to  Its  hard  conditions. 

Tho  question  rises  at  once,  why  is  this  so  ordered?    Why  must 
thesonl  orawlos  it  were,  on  its  heavenward  journey,  and  make 


8CS 


_fl     LIFE    STUDY 


I 


stich  slow  progress  from  the  desert  earth  to  the  ever-groon  Paradise 
of  God?  Why  must  it  drag  along  with  it  such  crushing  burdens, 
bo  imprisoned  under  bondage  to  sense,  be  subjected  to  anxiety  and 
doubt  and  fear;  or  as  it  toils  upward,  feel  the  sand  yielding  be- 
neath its  pressure,  and  leaving  it  to  an  almost  tread-mill  experience. 

Perhaps  the  partial  answer  afforded  by  the  symbol  above,  may 
be  far  from  satisfying,  but  it  is  still  true,  that  as  the  butterfly  feeds 
upon  the  rose,  while  yet  the  rose  is  combined  with  them ;  so  the 
christian's  immortal  hope  feeds  upon  the  bloom  and  fragrance  of 
what  grows  oftenest  in  the  thorn-bush  of  trial  and  affliction. 
There  is  a  mystery  in  all  the  divine  dispensations,  but  it  is  a  mys- 
tery that  is  only  a  veil  of  infinite  wisdom — a  wisdom  which  in  this 
present  state,  we  might  be  unable  to  appreciate,  even  were  it  un- 
folded to  us. 

And  still  another  partial  answer  is  suggested  by  what  we  see 
below.  There  is  Mount  Pisgah,  from  which  the  soul  by  faith 
gazes  forward  to  the  heavenly  Canaan,  and  its  summit  is  surmoun- 
ted with  a  radiating  and  star-gemmed  crown,  which  intimates  the 
future  and  unseen  glory  that  is  yet  to  be  revealed  to  the  soul. 
This  present  life  is  necessarily  toilsome,  if  it  climbs  to  that  eleva- 
tion from  which  the  prospect  can  bo  enjoyed,  and  how  few  would 
have  a  longing  for  its  enjoyment,  if  here  on  earth  every  desire 
were  satisfied,  and  no  afiSiction  or  crushing  burden  was  experienced ! 


"But  he  Ttrho  know  what  human  hearU  would  prove  ; 
How  Blow  to  learn  the  dictates  of  his  love ; 
That  hard  hy  nature,  and  of  stubhorn  will, 
A  life  of  ease  would  make  them  harder  still ; 
Called  for  a  cloud  to  darken  all  their  years, 
And  said—"  Qo,  spend  them  in  a  veil  of  tears." 


Thus  the  very  burdens  of  life  that  retard  its  progress,  may  become 
sanctified  discipline.  It  is  not  for  the  soul  to  murmur  that  it  is 
doomed  to  crawl,  when  it  longs  to  soar.    There  may  be  lessons  to 


A     LIFE    STUDY. 


soa 


be  learned,  and  blessings  to  be  secured,  while  prostrate  in  the 
dust,  that  would  be  sought  in  vain  on  lofty  and  outspread  wing. 
Ever,  is  it  wisest  and  best  to  bow  our  wiUs  to  the  will  of  the  high- 
est,  and  to  rebel  against  no  condition  or  burden,  which  he  may  see 
fit  to  impose.  In  the  great  vineyard  too,  where  all  kinds  of  toil 
are  needed,  it  may  be  that  snail's  work  is  to  be  done,  and  it  may  bo 
that  we  are  the  ones  to  doit,  and  yet  if  we  doit  faithfully  and 
well,  we  may  rest  assured  that  we  shall  not  faU  of  our  reward. 


>B 


\o  pnniinn  flrref,  nr  i.iw  ili  lirf, 

lldn  i/iii  nchrit  the  laUinncf  qj'  the  llnmr  , 
Hack-  Id  ill  (lod  Ih'.  living  _flre 

Htvcrlt,  uncloudtti  as  it  came. 


■Sk 


m 


0  THAT  T  HA<D  WIN03  LIKE   A    (DOVE.    THEN  WOUL<^  I  FLY 
ylWAV,  ANCDiSE  AT  RECT  "-0arid 

OU  find,  that  a  strange  contrast  between  human  folly  and 
the  divine  wisdom  ia  exhibited  in  the  study  of  the  methods 
by  which  men  have  sought  to  obtain  the  salvation  whirh 
the  soul — often  unconscious  of  its  real  condition  craves !  Here  we 
see  the  height  of  human  attainment  sot  forth  in  a  striking  manner. 
Human  nature,  under  the  curse  of  sin,  has  been  reduced  to  a  rude 
misshapen  stump,  on  which  we  can  only  discern  the  skeleton  features 
of  its  humanity ;  and  the  feeble,  dwarfed  life  that  is  in  it  shoots 
forth  in  a  few  weak  branches,  from  which  the  leaves  have  already 
fallen,  and  which,  ere  long,  will  snap  under  the  slightest  pressure. 
By  means  of  these  limbs,  the  soul,  provided  with  heart-shaped 
wings,  that  express  simply  the  aspirations  of  an  unrenewed  nature, 
has  mounted  up  to  a  height  from  which  it  will  venturously  attempt 
to  fly.  It  has  taken  its  own  chosen  portion,  its  idol  world,  from 
which  it  cannot  part,  and  bound  it  securely  to  its  feet.  And  now 
it  stretches  at  once  arms  and  wings.  We  need  not  linger  to  watch 
and  learn  the  issue.  We  know  full  well  what  it  will,  what  it 
must  be.  The  soul  will  be  precipitated  upon  the  rocks  and  stones 
beneath,  or  be  plunged  inextricably  into  the  marsh  or  theseo. 


i 


303 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


\ 


It  will  sink  miserably  disappointed,  and  become  the  victim  of  its 

own  amazing  and  inextricable  fully. 

It  is  ever  so,  when  man  would  reject  the  divine  plan,  and  invent 

a  way  to  save  himself.     He  cannot  climb  to  the  skies,  nor  can  he 

devise  wings  to  soar  thither.     He  that  would  be  exalted  must  first 

he  humbled,  while  he  that  strives  only  to  exalt  himself,  is  sure  to 

be  abased. 

It  is  the  humbled  heart — as  we  see  above — half  sunk  out  of 

sigh  tin  the  vapors  of  obscurity,  over  which  the  crown  of  ste-rs  sheds 
its  lustre  and  its  glory.  On  that  heart,  there  rests  the  weight,  not 
merely  of  death's  skeleton  jaw,  but  of  the  cross,  and  that  cross 
bearing  upon  it  a  wreath  of  thorns.  But  the  starry  crown  surmounts 
this,  showing  that  between  the  soul  and  its  final  glorification  there 
only  intervenes  the  experience  of  the  cross,  and  the  common  lot  of 
mortality. 

The  motto  beneath  gives  emphasis  to  this  thought.  Fides  que 
coronut  adaras,  "and  faith  crowns  at  its  altars."  Where  the  sacri- 
fice is  offered,  the  reward  is  assured.  Even  at  the  altar,  the  crown, 
elevated  aloft,  is  yet  descending  to  rest  on  the  humbled  heart. 
Angel  spirits  hovering  over  lowly  and  obscure  dwellings  may,  with 
spiritual  discernment  behold  there,  whom,  under  their  earthly 
disguise,  void  of  all  show  or  pomp,  they  may  address,  "  All  hail, 
ye  who  are  even  now  made  kings  and  priests  unto  God."  Assured 
of  his  favor,  of  how  little  account  is  all  earthly  distinction,  or  all 
the  elevation  that  can  be  obtained  by  earthly  platforms !  Men  may 
climb  the  stumps  of  human  ambition,  and  bind  the  world  fast  to 
them,  but  as  they  let  go,  as  they  soon  must,  their  feeble  hold  from 
the  leafless  decaying  branches,  all  their  artistic  wings,  and  cunning 
devices  cannot  save  them  from  a  disastrous  fall,  or  fatal  plunge. 


HI 


To  humbkr  functiont,  awful  Power ! 

I  call  Thee.     I  myself  commend 
Unto  thy  guidance  from  this  hour  ; 

Oh .'  let  my  weakness  have  an  end  ! 

Wordaworth 


••BE  NOT  OVERCOME  OF  EVIL,  BUT  OVERCOME  EVIL  WITH  GOO<D. 

Paul. 


VERY  different  impression  is  made  by  the  same  objects 
upon  the  minds  of  different  beholders.      One  will  be 
attracted  by  what  repels  the  other.     One  will  embrace 
what  another  turns  from  with  loathing  or  contempt. 

But  the  contrast  is  never  more  striking  than  when  the  world, 
in  its  varied  aspects  is  the  object  presented,  and  the  carnal  mind 
and  the  renewed  spirit  are  the  spectators.  As  we  see  them  here, 
one  is  seated  upon  the  ground,  tricked  out  in  his  fool's  cap  and 
finery,  contentedly  gazing  upon  the  worlds  of  sense  that  lie  before 
him,  himself  too  indolent  for  any  greater  exertion  than  to  raise  his 
hands  to  his  head,  acliing  perhaps  with  the  effects  of  his  surfeits? 
to  enable  him  to  look  more  steadily  upon  the  hollow  cheats — serpent's 
eggs — by  which  he  is  deluded,  and  which,  though  as  yet  he  knows 
it  not,  are  ready  to  burst  and  pour  forth  their  viperous  brood. 
If  he  should  deign  to  glance  at  the  heaven-aspiring  spirit  near,  it 


m 


£10 


fi  LIFE    STUDY. 


would  be  only  with  a  sneering,  scornful  or  contemptuous  look. 
He  evidently  does  not,  and  in  his  present  mood  and  position,  cannot 
see  the  huge  serpent  that  has  raised  his  head  over  two  of  these 
globes,  indicating  plainly  enough  what  terrible  tenants  may  hold 
possession  of  those  over  which  he  keeps  guard. 

How  different  with  the  renewed  soul,  that,  instead  of  finding 
satisfeictiou  below,  extends  its  hands  and  spreads  its  wings,  as  if  it 
would  leave  this  desert  of  sin,  this  vale  of  tears,  this  serpent's 
nest,  and  Hy  aloft  to  its  home  above.      Emphatically  does  it  feel : 

"TbiB  world  can  never  give 
The  bliss  for  which  we  sigh." 


A  glance  beneath  reveals  to  it  the  vanity  of  all  merely  earthly 
hope.  A  broad  beam  of  light,  bearing  its  own  thoughts,  and 
alluring  its  gaze  upward  to  its  source,  falls  upon  these  worlds,  and 
as  it  goes  blazing  through  them,  makes  their  hoUowness  transparent. 
One  of  these  indeed,  is  already  broken  open,  and  freed  from  its 
venomous  tenant,  is  discerned  to  be  a  n  ere  skull.  It  cannot  sus- 
tain the  hope  of  an  immortal  spirit ;  it  has  given  way  beneath  its 
pressure,  and  is  manifestly  a  hollow  mockery.  There  is  the  ser- 
pent too,  with  his  stealthy,  noiseless  movement,  watching  perhaps 
the  opportunity  to  strike  his  fangs  in  the  flesh  of  his  victim,  and 
there  is  carnal  pleasure,  the  representative  of  the  worldliness  which 
the  renewed  soul  turns  from  with  inexpressible  loathing. 

No  wonder  it  gazes  upward,  and  longs  to  soar  away  to  a  more 
congenial  sphere,  and  be  at  rest.  Here  sin  and  sense  would  bind 
its  wings  and  make  it  their  drudge.  Here  it  sees  trash  and  tinsel, 
while  the  true  riches  are  an  object  of  scorn.  Here  it  breathes  an 
atmosphere  of  vanity,  and  its  ears  are  greeted  with  discords,  and 
it  finds  none  to  sympathize  with  it.  It  is  conversant  with  sights  of 
vain  display,  with  broken  promises  and  hollow  hopes,  and  it  longs 
for  the  sinless  paradise  and  the  heavenly  communion. 


fi  LIFE    STUDY. 


811 


Nor  need  it  long  in  vain.  The  law  of  God— both  tables  of  it- 
is  comprehended  in  love,  love  to  God,  and  love  to  man.  These  are 
the  two  wings  of  a  hallowed  obedience,  and  on  these  the  soul  may 
soar  heavenward.  Then  indeed,  it  shall  be  as  the  dove  seen  below — 
with  the  sign  of  the  cross  on  either  wing.  It  is  by  virtue  of 
Christ's  own  signature  upon  the  soul,  that  it  is  warranted  in  its  aspi- 
ration to  soar  to  him.  Nor  is  there  presumption  in  tho  attempt 
The  soul  that  follows  him  here,  in  bearing  the  cross,  shall  rise  t^i 
share  with  him  his  heavenly  triumph,  and    enter  into  Ixis  rest. 


w 


( 


Gnatntsi  and  goodness  are  not  means  but  ends  ! 
Hath  he  not  always  treasures,  always  friends, 
The  good,  great  vian  f 

Coleridge. 


j^Sh^ 


\- 


^« 


"  I  HA  VE  FOUGH T  A  O00<D  FIGHT.   I  HA  VE  FINISHED  MY  COURSE. 
I  HA  VE  KEPT  THE  FAITH. '  '-Paul. 

jHE  dove  vainly  seeking  rest  as  it  flies  over  the  face  of  the 
deluged  earth,  is  only  an  emblem  of  vain  effort  of  many 
a  soul  to  find  rest  in  worldly  things.  It  tries  one  thing 
and  then  another,  but  one  is  a  rolling  log,  and  another  a  floating 
carcase.  There  is  no  visible  ark,  within  which  the  soul  may  find 
shelter  and  repose,  till  it  is  divinely  revealed  to  the  eye  of  faith. 

In  this  picture  we  see  an  illustration  of  human  experience, 
that  has  tried  one  method  after  another  to  find  solid  footing  for  the 
spirit.  It  stands  at  last,  high  above  all  the  shifting  phases  of  the 
world,  where  the  winds  of  adversity  or  prosperity,  that  are  contin- 
ually turning  the  vane  beneath,  can  no  longer  affect  it.  It  looks 
down  on  the  globe  beneath  its  feet,  on  the  lofty  walls  and  battle- 
ments of  a  royal  domain,  on  the  broad  luxuriant  fields  and  gardens 
which  show  the  fruit  of  careful  culture,  but  on  the  whole  horizon, 
the  most  conspicuous  of  all  objects  is  Mount  Calvary,  its  three 
crosses  still  distinctly  visible  in  the  distance. 

Thus  firmly  supported,  that  experience  which  now  glories,  and 
glories  only  in  the  cross  of  Christ,  has  become  truly  christian.  It 
can  fix  its  eye  unwavering  on  the  mark,  and  calmly  poise  its  arrow. 


314 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


*:^ 


n 


and  deliberately  draw  its  bow,  to  secure  the  prize  of  its  high  call- 
ing. No  storms  can  shake  it.  No  sinking  sands  threaten  to  swal- 
low it  up.  The  cross  that  supports  it  rests  itself  upon  eternal 
foundations. 

Above,  the  instability  of  the  world  itself  is  illustrated.  A 
butterfly  alights  on  the  cross  that  crowns  it,  and  takes  possession, 
of  it,  while  it  is  itself  transformed  into  a  balloon,  which  lighter 
than  air,  needs  to  be  ballasted  by  a  death's  head,  to  keep  it  from 
floating  away.  Thus  the  weight  of  the  thought  of  mortality,  must 
be  attached  to  the  ambitious  scenes  of  men  to  keep  them  from  being 
lifted  to  a  dizzy  height,  and  kings  like  Philip  of  Macedon  must  have 
men  to  charge  them  daily,  "  Bemember,  O,  king,  that  thou  art 
mortal." 

Beneath,  we  see  a  dove,  emblem  of  the  loveliness  of  the  inof- 
fensive christian  spirit,  resting  upon  a  cross  that  surmounts  the 
globe.  At  its  feet,  on  the  globe,  we  rtad  the  inscription — In  cruce 
stat  aecurua  amor,  "  Love  stands  safe  on  the  cross."  This  is  verified 
as  we  see  the  flying  arrows  directed  against  it  turned  aside,  bent 
or  rendered  pointless,  confirming  the  assurance — "No  weapon 
formed  against  thee  shall  prosper."  The  arrow  may  be  barbed  or 
poisoned.  It  may  be  aimed  with  superhuman  skill.  Invisible 
spirits  may  exult  in  the  accuracy  and  force  with  which  it  is  hurled, 
but  there  is  a  certain  distance  around  the  cross,  where  the  dove- 
like spirit  finds  repose,  which  it  cannot  penetrate.  The  cross  itself 
is  encompassed  with  an  atmosphere  into  which  no  hannful  thing 
can  intrude,  and  with  the  cross  above  it,  even  worldly  powers  and 
influences,  that  issue  forth  from  the  globe,  shall  be  controlled  and 
subdued,  by  the  power  of  the  cross,  till  they  shall  even  arrest  the 
flying  arrow,  and  help  bring  down  every  lofty,  proud,  fluttering 
thought  into  obedience  to  Christ,  or  subject  it  to  the  supremacy  of 
the  cross. 


liil 


I 


HI 


li 


■'^AY  UNTO  ^AY  UTTE^ETH  SPEECH.  AN(D  NIOHT  UNTO  NIOHT 
SHOWETH  KNOWLEQOE  •'-©au-d. 


HE  thought  of  God  which  the  soul  of  man  entertains,  comes 
infinitely  short  of  the  unspeakably  glorious   and  over- 
whelming  reality.     Sometimes  terror  and  the  apprehen- 
sions of  conscious  guilt,  give  it  form  and  coloring,  and  then  it  is 
inexpressibly  terrible.     Sometimes  love  and  filial  trust  throw  their 
sunlight  over  it;  and  then  it  becomes,  not  less  awful  or  majestic, 
but  transcendantly  beautiful  and  attractive.     What  was  once  Uke 
the  frowning  folds  of  the  black  cloud,  blazing  with  lightnings,  has 
become  like  the  magnificent  mountains  of  massive  gold,  piled  on 
the  distant  horizon,  on  which  the  eye  rests  delighted,  as  though 
they  were  the  heights  that  reflected  the  near  splendors  of  the  celes- 
tial  glory. 

Here  we  see  the  soul  almost  dazzled  by  the  insuflferable  splen- 
dor that  pours  down  upon  it  from  the  throne,  and  apparently 


813 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


I 


shrinking  from  that  blazing  effulgence  \vhich  puts  out  the  stars. 
Yet,  with  hanila  lifted,  ready  to  screen  its  overtaxed  vision,  it  can- 
not but  look  upward  to  tho  source  of  all  its  light,  and  hope,  and 
joy,  while  its  fool's-cup  lios  nGgloctod  and  discarded,  at  the  foot. 

Well  it  may  bo  so,  for  tho  serpent  is  seen  to  have  taken  pos- 
session of  it,  nor  has  yet  withdrawn  altogether  from  vhe  shelter  it 
affords.  Tho  soul  may  look  upward  with  fear  and  trembling, 
indeed,  but  still  with  a  holy  trust ;  while  it  can  look  downward 
only  with  horror  and  an  agonized  outcry  for  help.  That  help  is 
only  in  tho  Lord  its  God. 

But  how  Hhould  it  approach  Him  ?  How  may  it  dwell  in  liia 
light?  He  is  tho  infinite  mystery  of  the  universe.  His  three-fold 
subsistence — do  ibly  symbolized  above,  to  make  it  emphatic,  and 
recognized  in  his  very  name,  the  plural  Elohim — is  invested  with  a 
circling  radiance,  to  which  the  wings  of  seraphs  may  approach,  but 
into  which  even  they  may  not  penetrate.  The  mystery  is  wrapped 
about  in  light  unapproachable,  and  the  soul  sinks  back  appalled  by 
the  lightnings  of  its  beams. 

And  yet.  He  may  be  approached.  The  soul  may  draw  near  to 
him,  downcast,  trembling,  and  still  hopeful,  and  trustful.  It  may 
come  with  a  heart  transformed  to  an  inverted  harp,  indicating  its 
voluntary  humiliation,  and  when  every  string  rings  with  praise  of 
the  sacred  name,  and  the  flowers  the  soul  loves  all  bloom  with  the 
crowns  that  it  stands  ready  to  cast  at  His  feet,  fear  and  terror  may 
be  banished.  For  the  High  and  Holy  One,  that  inhabiteth 
Eternity,  will  delight  in  fulfillment  of  his  own  promise — to  stoop  to 
hmnan  weakness,  and  accept  the  homage  which  humble  hearts  are 
ready  to  offer. 

Then  shall  God  be  indeed  near  to  the  soul,  not  by  the  insuffer- 
able terrors  of  his  presence,  but  in  the  sweet  condescension  of  his 
love.  It  is  his  glorious  light,  perhaps,  that  almost  dazzles  the 
soul's  vision,  that  drives  away  every  harmful  thing,  forcing  the 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


313 


serpent  to  uncoU  himself  from  the  fools-rap,  and  spood  away 
to  his  native  darkness.  It  is  the  light,  pouring  down  in  a  broad 
beam  from  the  smile  of  his  countenance  upon  the  soul,  that  will 
link  heaven  and  earth  together,  and  become  a  kind  of  Jacob's 
ladder,  by  which  the  thoughts  and  aflfections  of  the  gracnous  spirit 
shall  mount  upward  to  the  throne,  and  abide  unappallod,  amid  the 
unutterable  si)leudor8. 


I 


III 


I 


i 


A  thcutand  glancei  ttrike  the  skies, 
The  floor  o/  Uis  abode.— Watim. 


-LOOK  CDILIOENTLY.    LEST  ANY  MAN  FAIL  OF  THE  GRACF  CF 

OOCD."-Paul 

pRE  we  see  an  illustration  of  the  power  of  the  cross  upon 
the  heart.  The  soul  is  seen  holding  forth  a  cross  surmoun- 
ted and  consecrated  compass,  upon  the  face  of  which  we 
see  the  trembling  needle  pointing  to  a  cross  resting  on  an  aiTow- 
pierced  heart,  and  that  cross  encircled  by  a  rainbow,  and  a  yet 
more  distant  effulgence,  so  shaped  as  to  be  directe  d  toward  the 
four  points  of  the  compass.  The  heart  that  bears  the  cross  more- 
over rests  upon  an  elevated  level,  far  above  the  rough  and  rugc^ed 
surface  upon  which  the  soul  stands,  so  that  the  eye,  to  bo]iou"it, 
must  be  lifted  up,  as  it  were  to  another  sphere,  to  the  heavenly 
country. 

That  compass  is  the  heart,  and  the  needle  indicates  its  once 
wavering  affections,  disturbed  by  the  thousand  attractions  of 
worldly  objects,  now  allured  by  honor  or  fr,me,  now  drawn  by 
wealth  or  pleasure,  and  again  deranged  by  inordinate  desires. 
It  can  never  settle  or  become  fixed,  till  it  is  brought  under  the 
power  of  that  heart-supported  cross,  the  polar  star  of  faith  and 
hope.  Then  it  is  at  rest.  It  wavers,  it  even  trembles  in  uncer- 
tainty,  no  longer. 

But  if  we  look  above,  we   see  still  another  phase  of  the  soul's 
sanctified  experience.     There  we  see  the  cross  Uke  a  sun,  radiating 


I 


I'M 


¥ 


;!ZS 


A     LIFE    STUDY. 


its  Ifoams,  and  at  the  same  time  exerting  its  attractive  powiu-. 
There  too  is  tho  moon  rejoicing  in  its  light,  and  paying  back  thu 
tribute  of  its  indebtedness. 

"Tho  BtUl  commandrcBs  of  the  silent  night, 

Borrows  her  beam  from  her  bright  brother's  eye  : 
His  fair  aspect  fills  her  s'  nrp  horns  with  light, 

If  he  withdmw,  her  flames  arc  quenched  and  di  ." 

But  most  significant  of  all,  the  compass,  with  its  pointer  directed 
to  the  cross,  is  now  seen  to  have  assumed  wings,  to  speed  its  flight 
heavenward,  attracted  by  the  cross  of  its  exalted  and  glorified 
Lord.  All  its  aspirations  and  desires  are  upward.  It  would  mount 
and  soar  away  to  the  very  presence,  and  the  fullness  of  light  and 
glory  to  be  found  in  the  cross.  We  may  seem  to  hear  the  prayer 
that  is  breathed  from  its  lips,  and  rustles  in  every  stroke  of  its 
wings. 

"  Eternal  God  I  O,  thou,  that  only  art 

The  sr.         fountain  of  eternal  light, 
And  blessed  loadstone  of  my  better  part, 

O,  thou,  my  heart's  desire,  my  soul's  delight ! 
Reflect  upon  my  soul,  and  touch  my  heart, 

And  then  my  heart  shall  prize  no  good  above  thee : 

And  then  my  soul  shall  know  thee ;  knowing,  loye  thi-c : 
And  then  my  trembling  t  oughts  shall  i  ever  start 

From  thy  commands,  or  swerve  the  least  degree. 
Or  once  presume  to  move,  but  as  they  move  in  thee." 

As  the  flowers  below,  with  their  heart-shaped  leaves,  turn 
toward  the  sun,  unfolding  their  beauty  in  his  light,  and  drinking 
in  the  nourishment  of  his  beams,  so  the  soul  turns  to  the  cross,  and 
unfolds  its  beauty  to  its  radiance,  while  it  drinks  in  life  and  strengtii 
therefrom.  It  is  the  cross  of  Christ  that  changes  its  darkness  to 
noonday,  that  sustains  its  bloom  and  lends  to  it  all  its  glorious 
hues. 


3wor. 
kthu 


cted 
ight 
ifiod 
)unt 
and 
lyer 
'  its 


im 
iig 
Qd 

tii 
to 


H    ' 


■•MY   HEART  IS   PTXE^,  O  LORD,  MY  HEAI^T  IS  FTXE0  ■—(David 


|OME  lessons  there  are  which  the  soul  learns,  which  are 
thenceforth  ineradicable,  incorporated,  as  it  were,  with  its 
own  being.  Experience  has  engraved  them  on  the  heart, 
like  letters  on  the  bark  of  a  young  elm,  and  time  only  expands 
them,  till  under  the  majestic  canopy  of  foliage,  they  are  clearly  vis- 
ible to  every  eye  that  will  read. 

Such  a  lesson  is  found  in  the  loveliness  and  preciousuess  of 
Christ,  as  a  Saviour,  inseparable  from  the  hopes,  trust,  and  affec- 
tion of  the  soul.  "To  us  who  believe,"  says  one  apostle,  "he  is 
precious;"  and  "what  shall  separate  us  from  the  love  of  Christ?" 
exclaims  another.  The  voices  of  the  two  witnesses  seem  to  find  a 
common  and  harmonious  utterance  in  the  emblem  before  us. 

The  soul  is  seen,  in  its  meditative  hour — the  nighttime,  as 
indicated  by  the  still  starry  night — leaning  its  head  against,  and 
clasping  its  arm  around,  the  cross,  while  this  cross  is  supported 
upon  an  arrow-pierced  heart  that  rests — as  the  soul  itself  stands — 
in  the  midst  of  a  bed  of  lilies.  There  is  no  need  of  uttered  words, 
80  long  as  the  very  attitude  of  it,  and  its  relation  to  tho  objects 
around  it,  seem  to  say,  "  My  beloved  is  mine,  and  I  am  his ;  he 
feedeth  among  the  lilies." 


S£S 


■4    LIFE    STUDY. 


■'  1  * 


ill 


V'l 


"  Christ  and  his  cross  be  all  one  theme,"  expresses  the  delib- 
erate choice  of  the  renewed  soul  in  its  meditative  hour.  Upon  these 
it  must  dwell.     These  it  must  cherish. 

Here,  as  in  other  pictures,  the  sacrifice  and  results  of  this 
attachment  are  seen  in  the  emblems  suspended  on  either  side,  while 
beneath,  we  behold  the  butterfly,  with  both  wings  expanded,  and 
each  wing  marked  by  a  distinct  cross.  The  union  of  Christ  with 
the  soul,  an  union  henceforth  inseparable,  is  the  source  of  its  new 
and  eternal  life,  the  root,  as  it  were,  of  a  hope  full  of  immortality. 
The  wing  that  soars,  bears  upon  it  the  stamp  that  seems  to  say, 
"God  forbid  that  I  should  glory,  save  in  the  cross  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ." 

How  beautifully  has  Quarles  expressed  the  fervor  and  strength 
of  the  soid's  attachment  to  him,  on  whose  bosom  it  loves  to  lean, 
and  in  whose  words  it  finds  the  promise  and  assurance  of  all  that 
it  most  desires, 

"  If  all  those  glittering  monarchs,  that  command 
The  gerrile  quarters  of  this  earthly  hall, 
Should  tender  in  exchange  their  shares  of  land, 
I  would  not  change  my  fortune  for  ihcm  all. 

"  Nor  time,  nor  place,  nor  change,  nor  death  can  bow. 
My  least  desires  unto  the  least  remove ; 
lie's  firmly  mine  by  oath ;  I  his  by  yow ; 
He's  mine  by  faith,  and  I  am  his  by  love. 


"  Ho  1b  my  altar;  I  his  holy  place ; 

I  am  bis  guest ;  and  he  my  living  fooii ; 
I*m  hlB  by  penitent  e ;  he  mine  by  grace ; 
I'm  bis  by  purchase ;  he  is  mine  by  blood. 


"  Be  gives  me  wealth :  I  give  him  all  my  tows  ; 

I  give  him  songs ;  he  gives  me  length  of  days ; 
With  wreaths  of  grace  he  crowns  my  conquering  brows ; 
And  I  his  temples  with  a  crown  of  praise,       , 
Which  hu  accepts;  an  everlasting  sign, 
That  I  my  best  beloved's  am;  that  he  is  mine." 


YEN  as  a  quiet,  calm,  and  pleasant  water  will  show 
unto  us,  if  wo  look  into  it,  the  very  inuigo  and  like- 
ness of  ourselves,  as  if  it  were  a  glass,  but,  beinp^ 
moved,  stirred,  and  troubled,  it  doth  not  so  ;  so, 
likewise,  our  own  hearts,  if  they  bo  (|uit*t  and  not 
troubled  with  horrors,  nor  distempered  with  fears,  will 
plainly  show  us  what  wo  be,  so  that  we  may  eas'ly  know 
ourselves  and  not  be  deceived,  but,  being  filled  with  fea's,  tossed 
with  terrors,  and  overwhelmed  with  troubles,  they  car  not  do  so. 

As  the  mariner  on  the  sea  doth  cast  the  best  jewels  and  most 
precious  things,  if  they  overload  his  ship  and  put  it  in  danger  of 
shipwreck ;  even  so  we,  in  this  our  pilgrimage,  must  cast  from  us 
the  most  precious  things  we  enjoy — if  it  be  our  eye  or  our  hand — 
if  they  hinder  us  in  the  race  of  godliness,  and  do  press' us  down  so 
that  we  cannot  go  on  cheerfully  as  we  ought. 

As  those  who  keep  clocks  a'-e  wont  every  day  to  wind  them ; 
80,  in  like  manner,  we  must  set  apart  some  time  of  the  day  for  the 
elevation  and  raising  up  of  our  minds  to  heaven,  by  meditation  on 
God's  Word  and  prayer,  lost  our  hearts  should  so  far  descend, 
through  the  weight  of  the  cares  of  this  world,  that  our  course  in 
godliness  should  be  hindered  and  stopped. 


fi   LIFE    STUDY. 


1^     . 


J ''  :■« 


As  the  Bun  riHeth  first,  and  the.  the  beasts  arise  from  their 
dens,  the  fowls  from  their  nests,  and  men  from  their  beds ;  so, 
when  the  heart  sets  forward  to  God,  all  the  members  follow — the 
tongue  will  praise  Him,  the  foot  will  follow  him,  the  ear  will  attend 
Him,  the  eye  will  watch  Him,  the  hand  will  serve  Him ;  every  one 
goes  liko  a  handmaid  after  hor  mistress. 

Like  as  that  woman  who  would  have  her  dough  leavened,  if 
she  lay  lior  dough  in  one  place  and  the  leaven  in  another,  loseth 
hor  labor ;  even  so  he  who  would  have  his  heart  sanctified,  com- 
forted, and  enlightened,  and  will  not  give  it  to  God,  greatly 
deceiveth  himself,  for  tho  tempter  then  cometh  and  keeps  them 
asunder,  and  soizeth  upon  the  heart,  which  he  finds  alone. 

If  thou  shalt  cast  into  a  censer  odoriferous  and  sweet 
pomander  balls,  the  whole  house  will  be  filled  with  a  sweet  savor 
and  pleasant  perfume ;  but  if  thou  shalt  cast  into  it  brimstone, 
all  tho  huuso  will  be  full  of  a  most  horrible  smell ;  so,  in  like  man- 
ner, if  tliou  shalt  put  into  the  heart  of  some  man,  good  and  whole- 
some counsels,  and  shalt  instruct  him  with  godly  admonitions,  and 
shalt  open  unto  him  the  fountain  of  the  truth,  thou  shalt  bring  to  pass 
that  there  shall  proceed  out  of  his  heart  a  great  savour  of  a  most 
sweet  smell ;  but  if  thou  shalt  fill  hiiu  with  evil  and  wicked  coun- 
sels, and  shalt  persuade  and  draw  him  to  impiety,  hatred, 
treachery,  and  all  abominations,  thou  shalt  be  the  cause  of  an 
intolerable  evil — there  shall  come  out  of  his  heart  a  most  poisonful 
savor,  wherewith  not  only  his  own  heart,  but  where  he  abideth, 
shall  be  hurt. 


■J 


EEE  Bcola  Cordis  is  WTitten  across  a  heart,  over  whioh 
angels  hover,  bearing  cro\m  and  palm — thus  intimating 
M-Iiut  may  be  attained  by  way  of  honor  through  this 
school— while  the  heart  leans  against  a  tomb,  intimating  the  solemn 
conditions  and  surroundings  of  study.  School  of  the  Heart,  richest 
m  knowledge,  yet  where  least  is  accinired,  school  where  the  most 
important  of  all  information  is  dispensed  only  to  be  least  regarded, 
school  where  tuition  is  free,  yet  a  school  almost  deserted  for  the 
dearer  one  of  experience. 

The  fool's  eyes  wander  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  daintily 
feed  on  many  delights  ;  the  wise  man  turns  his  gaze  within,  and 
finds    "work   enough  at   home."     Knowledge  and  wisdom  are  not 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


M 


II 


the  flame,  we  may  have  all  knowledge  yet  live  a  life  of  tolly,  and 
ilio  as  the  fool  dioth.  Understanding  of  thine  own  heart  it  is  that 
transforms  vain  erudition  into  heavenly  wisdom.  "Keep thy  heart 
with  all  diligence,  for  ont  of  it  are  the  issues  of  life."  Not  thine 
intellectual  nature,  not  thy  physical  part,  is  it  that  dotennines  thy 
happiness  lu-'ro  and  hereafter,  but  thy  soul. 

Turn  In,  my  mind,  wander  not  nbroad  : 

Here's  work  enough  at  home ;  Iny  by  that  load 

or  scattered  thouKht  that  cloi{*  and  cumbers  thee : 

rU'Humo  thy  long  neglected  liberty 

or  Bcir-examlniitlon;  bend  thine  eye 

I:iwurd;  consider  where  thy  heart  doth  lie, 

How  'tis  affucteil,  how  'lis  bunled;  look 

Wli;ii  thou  hast  writ  thyself  In  thine  own  book, 

Thy  (jonsclcnco;  hero  get  thou  tliymlf  in  "chool; 

H''ir-kiiiiwlcdgc,  'twixt  a  wImo  man  and  a  fool, 

Dcitli  make  tho  dlflfbreiK'c ;  lio  that  neglects 

TliU learning,  sldeth  with  li  h  own  defects. 

'Ti!<  yet  pchool-llmo;  an  yet  tliodoor'H  not  shut, 

Ilaik  liDW  the  MiiHtcrr  calls.     Come,  Kt  us  put 

I'p  our  requests  to  him,  whose  will  alone 

Limits  his  power  of  teaching,  from  whi  ■• 

Returns  iinlcarn'd  that  hath  once  a  will 

To  bo  his  scholar  and  Implore  his  Hkill. 

Great  Searcher  of  tho  heart,  -whose  boundless  sight 

Discovers  secrets,  and  doth  bring  to  light 

The  hidden  thlnirs  of  darkness  \  ho  alone 

Perfectly  know'st  all  things  that  can  be  known ; 

Teach  me  to  Know  my  Heart   •  »  ♦ 

Tx>rd,  if  thou  wilt,  thou  can'st  Impart  this  skill : 

And  as  for  other  learning,  take't  who  will. 


\,V2^^gwp?>«(J^2:^AV>f^ 


TlIK   I  fFECTION   OP   THK   HkaIIT. 

WHY  HATH  r.AT-atJ  FILLK'-T)  7V7:;:.?  HEART    -Acts  5  .  P. 

EEB  we  have  a  fearful  reprosentation  of  the  original  temp- 
tation in  the  garden.  Eve  stands  beneath  the  tree  of  the 
knowledge  of  Good  and  Evil.  In  her  left  hand  she  holds 
an  apple,  which  she  has  not  yet  tasted ;  in  hor  right  she  holds  up 
her  heart  to  the  Old  Serpent,  who,  folded  about  the  tree,  loops 
himself  over  a  limb,  that  he  may  bring  his  head  close  to  the  open 
heart.  Eve's  head  is  inclined  in  deep  attention,  but  lo !  as  he 
breathes  his  deadly  temptations  into  the  heart,  it  bursts  out  all 
over  with  a  brood  of  smaller  serpents,  that  are  seen  protruding 
their  heads,  while  just  below  them  the  sting  of  the  Old  Serpent's 
tail  is  about  to  enter.  Our  first  mother  but  represents  every 
t'^mpted  soul.  We  too,  take  into  our  hands  the  apples  of  temp- 
tation.    We  too  hold  up  our  hearts  to  the   subtle  tempter,   and 


1  -1 

1 

i  •; 

1  ' 

1 

8  A    LIFE    STUDY 

while  we  listen  all  ra,pi;  to  the  syren  voice,  do  we  note  that  a  brood 
of  snaky,  vices  is  swarming  forth,  and  the  very  sting  of  death 
entering  our  souls. 

When  that  which  God  hath  told  thee  not  to  touch  or  taste,  looks 
pleasant  to  the  eye  and  very  desirable,  beware  ;  for — 

"  Whll'Bt  thou  incUn'at  thy  volcc-invelgled  enr, 
The  subtle  serpent's  syren  song  to  hear, 
Thy  heart  drinks  deadly  poison  drawn  from  Hell, 
And  with  a  vlp'rous  brood  of  sin  doth  swell." 


Take    to  thine  own  heart 


strange   dialogue   between   the 


tempted  soul  and  Satan,  that  hath  been  often  repeated  since  thu 
eartli's  first  glad  days. 

THK   SOUL. 

Yes,  good  it  is,  no  doubt,  and  good  for  meat, 

But  I  am  not  allowed  thereof  to  eat. 

My  Maker's  prohibition,  under  pain 

Of  death  the  day  I  eat  thereof,  makes  me   refrain. 

THE     SERPENT. 

Faint-hearted  fondling !  can'st  thou  fear  to  die, 

Being  a  spirit  and  immortal  ?  Fie. 

God  knows  this  fruit  once  eaten  will  refine 

Thy  grosser  parts  alone,  and  make  thee  all  divine. 

TUB   SOUL. 

There's  something  in  it,  sure  ;  were  it  not  good. 
It  had  not  in  the  midst  of  the  garden  stood ; 
And  being  good,  I  can  no  more  refrain 
From  wishing,  than  I  can  the  fire  to  burn,  restrain. 

THE     SERPENT. 

So,  thou  art  taken  now ;  that  resolution 
Gives  an  eternal  date  to  thy  confusion. 
The  knowledge  thou  hast  got  of  good  and  ill, 
Is  of  good  gone,  and  past ;  of  evil  present  still. 


TnE  Tmm  Awav  of  the  Hemi. 

THE  HEART  "-Ho,^    i:U. 

jTOK  in  pl,W,„f  d„wnb,„eath.he»hadsof  a  fair  spread- 
mg  tree  .h„  sleeping,  ri„ner  gives  up  her  heart  to  two 
«nged  demons,  ia  the  form  of  beasts.     The  demon  of 
lust  wears  the  appropriate  fo™„f  agoat;  the  demon  of  debauch. 

.og     Lust  only  g™,p,  the  soul,  but  gluttony  not  eouteul  with 
l.»Uutmg  .t  by  touch,  flUs  it  with  his  loathsome  vomit,  and  his  vT^ 


10 


fi    LIFE    STUpy. 


^l   ', 


tail  curls  with  impish  joy.  Christ  looks  on  with  despairing  gesture, 
wliile  the  overturned  vase  indicates  a  hopeless  state.  A  single 
picture  yet  so  widely  appUcable,  just  where  life  seems  sweetest,  it 
may  be  most  dangerous,  just  where  the  flowers  grow  thickest,  ser- 
pents most  do  love  to  lurk.  How  soft  and  gentle  the  first  app- 
roaches of  sensuaUty,  how  maddeningly  enticing  the  first  experiences. 
Oh !  we  but  sink  in  slumber,  slumber  that  we  need,  beneath  whis- 
pering leaves  and  cooling  breezes,  propped  on  yielding  beds  so 
cosily.  Yes,  and  imps  of  darkness  are  clutching  thy  soul ;  Christ 
is  despairing  of  thee.     "  Let  him  alone,  joined  to  his  idols  :" 


While  thou  Host  Bonking  in  security, 

'1  hou  drowii'st  tliybelf  in  sensual  delight, 
And  wallow Vt  in  debauched  luxury, 
Which  when  thou  art  awoke  and  scest  will  fright 
Thine  heart  with  horror. 

While  thou  dost  pamper  thy  proud  flesh,  and  thrust 

Into  tliy  maw  the  prme  of  all  thy  store, 
Thou  dost  best  gather  fuel  for  that  lust, 

Which,  boiling  in  thy  liver,  runneth  o'er, 
And  frieth  in  thy  throbbing  veins,  which  must 
Needs  vent,  or  burst,  when  they  can  hold  no  more. 
But  oh,  consider  what  thou  sholt  confess 
At  last,  that  misery  and  wretchedness 
Is  all  the  fruit,  that  (-prings  from  lustful  wantonnesfl. 


Whtl'st  thou  remember'st  not  thy  latter  end. 

Nor  what  a  reckoning  thou  one  day  must  make, 
Putting  no  difference  'twixt  foe  and  friend. 

Thou  suffer'st  hellish  friends  thine  heart  to  take ; 
Who  all  the  whilo  thou  triflest,  do  attend. 

Ready  to  bring  it  to  the  lake 
Of  fire  nnd  brimstone ;  where  thou  shalt  confess, 

That  endless  misery  and  wretchedness 
Is  all  the  fruit,  that  springs  from  stupid  heartleBBness. 


Thk  Vanity  op  the    Heart. 

■'^"'^y  S.1AI.Z  BS  ff.-S  RECOMPENSE. --M    ,,1:Sf 

KB  heart  fe  here   represented  as  ffled   „.ilh  the  fire,  „f 
amb*„„;  a    grinning    d.„,„n  rejoicing    in  hi,  i,.fe„„ 

for^  J'"''' ■"■»'*«"«»«-  '-"""'.'W,  till  as  fr„„  a  flawing 
orge,    he  sparks  spnng  forth  from  a  burning  fountain.     T„   ,h! 
m^antjet.   daneethe  various  ohiects  of  vaulting  earthly  de.i.! 
n.e  fan  and  nsclclace  syn>boli^  ta^„„,  ^         ^^^  J  ' 


mm 


i 


I 


1  ii  liii 


Li     ' 


I 


I 


18 


4  LIFE    STUDY 


life  with  many ;  tlie  violin  suggests  dancing,  and  all  kindred  amuse- 
ments, the  crown  and  sceptre,  kingly  power,  the  trumpet  and  ban- 
ner, military  renown,  the  cross-tipped,  miniature  world,  all  the 
allurements  of  earth ;  -while  the  bubbles  that  float  amid  them  all 
indicate  their  utter  emptiness  and  vanity. 

Christ  stands  aghast.     But  the  poor  soul,  all  filled  with  rapture, 
sees  not  the  bubbles,  is  not  troubled  by  the  look  of  the  Saviour. 
Her  hand  is  raised  in  perfect  adoration  of  the  gorgeous  array 
above  her. 

How  humiUating,  how  true,  all  the  noble  aspirings  of  the  soul 
perverted  to  ignoble  ends ;  all  the  grand  instincts  of  worship  pros- 
trated before  idol  shrines.  Alas,  for aheart,  thatshould  yeanri  afterthe 
infinite,  and  be  filled  only  by  the  God  that  made  it,  deeming  itself 
blessed  by  dainty  fare,  or  soft  clothing,  or  mortal  homage.  And 
that  still  deeper  and  more  unfathomable  depth  of  degi'adation, 
where  men  unable  to  attain  themselves  the  objects  of  their  per- 
verted desires,  almost  worship  those  who  have  attained  them. 

How  one  learns  to  sympathize,  with  Quarles,  in  his  rough  indig- 
nation and  fierce  denunciation : 

The  bane  of  kingdomo,  world's  disquicter, 

Hull's  heir-apparent,  Satan's  eldest  son, 

Abstract  of  ills,  refined  elixir, 

And  quintessence  of  sin,  Ambition, 

Sprung  from  the  infernal  shades,  inhabits  here, 

Making  man's  heart  its  liorrid  mansion. 
Which  thciugh  it  were  of  vast  extent  before. 
Is  now  pufifed  up,  and  Bwclls  still  more  and  more. 

See  how  hell's  fueller  his  bellows  piles, 

Blowing  the  flre  that  burnt  too  fast  before ; 

See  how  the  furnace  flames,  the  sparkles  rise 

And  spread  themselves  abroad  still  more  and  mon^ ! 

Sue  how  the  doting  soul  bath  fixed  her  eyes 

On  her  dear  fooleries,  nnd  doth  adore, 

With  hands  and  heart  lift  up,  those  trifling  toys 

Wherewith  tbo  devil  cheats  her  of  her  joytt ! 


TuE  Oppkession  of  the  He\et 

Luri:e  SI  .  S4. 

Two  masRy  weights,  surfeiting,  drunkenness, 

Lik-o  miglity  logs  of  lead,  do  so  oppress 
The  heav'n-born  hearts  of  men,  that  to  aspire 
Upwanls  tlu-y  have  nor  power  nor  d.sire. 

p»~gM  t„„ot6  the  prominence  given  to   Gluttony  „, 

I  an  opp^,»„  „f  the  heart  in  fti,  d^^^^.    ^^  ,,^^^  .  ■ 

flat  beaten  to  the  board,"  by  a  mighty  pile  „f  dishe,  a 

::  thr  d-°?"*- ''  ™'"'"  "^  ^  '"-'^^  °'  "^-  <^  ^^ ' 

.ate  that  mordmate  eating  enforce,  drinking,  and  the  overloaded 


14 


A     LIFE    STUDY. 


I 


H' 


I- 


I:  : 
I' 

i 


stomach  demands  some  stimulant  to  spur  it  to  its  fearful  task.  A 
dragon-shaped  imp  clutches  the  handle  of  the  decanter,  while  he 
profl'ers  a  full  cup  to  the  eager  debauchee.  There  is  a  sting  in  the 
demon's  tail,  but  the  sinner  seems  too  busy  to  observe  that  one 
hand  is  on  the  topmost  dish,  the  other  outstretched  for  the 
"flowing  bowl." 

We  would  not  abate  one  jot  of  aught  that  has  been  pleaded  for 
temperance  in  drinking,  but  we  would  fain  broaden  the  temperance 
movement,  and  teach  men  to  see  the  sin  and  danger  of  surfeiting. 
Thousands  who .  habitually  eat  too  much,  who  cloud  their  intellect 
and  pervert  their  moral  sense  with  gluttony,  yet  pride  themselves 
upon  their  temperance,  and  despise  tlie  poor  sot  that  rolls  in  the 
gutter.  Intoxicating  drink  slays  its  myriads,  but  wo  do\ibt  if  the 
full  trencher  is  not  doing  a  wider  and  a  deadlier  work  among  us. 

A  certain  temperance  advocate  of  our  acquaintance,  himself  an 
invalid  through  inordinate  eating,  on(;e  invited  a  drinking  friend 
to  dine  with  hun,  and  after  dinner,  plead  with  him  to  abandon  his 
evil  ways.  He  was  met  with  the  cutting  reply.  *'  Charlie,  you  are 
not  the  man  to  talk  to  me,  for  you  are  the  greater  sinner ;  I  break 
nature's  laws  by  getting  drunk,  but  only  now  and  then  at  long 
intervals ;  you  break  the  same  laws  thrice  daily,  and  mark  the 
consequence,  though  we  are  of  the  same  age,  and  have  the  same  natu- 
ral gifts,  your  constitution  is  broken,  you  suffer  continually,  while  I 
only  have  a  headache  now  and  then.  You  are  more  intemperate 
than  myself. 

Hark  to  Quarles's  picture  of  a  glutton  and  drunkard  : 

Thy  body  is  disease's  rendezvous, 

Thy  mind  the  market  place  of  vie  ■. 
Tlio  devil  in  thy  will  keeps  open  liou  e : 
Thou  UvVt  lis  though  thou  would'st  euticu 
•  Ilell-torments  unto  thee, 

And  thine  own  devil  be. 


I 


The  EETUKinNG    of    the  Heart. 

•REMEMBEIR,    THIS.    AN<D   SHEW  YOURSELVES   MEN.    BRTNO 
IT   AGAIN    TO  MIN<S,  O    YE  TRANSGRESSORS,' '-laa.  40  :  8. 


SOTJL  here  wanders  in  sin,  though  it  has  no  pleasure  in 
wandering,  holding  on  in  its  work  of  evil,  though  its 
heart  is  no  longer  in  it.    This  is  intimated  by  the  heart 

left  behind  on  the  ground.    In  this  wretched  career  it  is  arrested  by 

Christ : 

Return,  O  wanderer,  return,  return, 

Thou  art  already  gone  too  far  away. 

It  is  enough :  unless  thou  mean  to  bum 

In  hell  forever,  stop  thy  course  at  last  and  stay. 


■■ 


10 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


He  then  points  back  to  the  deserted  heart  as  if  ho  would  say,  "  See, 
thou  hast  loft  thine  own  best  convictions,  the  nobler  part  of  thee 
behind.  Thou  art  running  a  wretched  race,  though  thou  knowest 
it8  wretchedness,  ever  nearing  a  bitter  end,  though  foretasting  its 
bitterness. "    But  the  soul  makes  answer : 


Shall  I  return  to  the.  t  Alas  1  have 
No  hope  to  bo  received :  a  runaway, 
A  rebel  to  return  I  Madmen  may  rave 
Of  inercy-miracleB,  but  what  will  justice  say  ? 


'il    ■    !: 


•■   I' 


i  li  i 


I 


That  a  man  should  thus,  as  it  were,  run  away  from  himself — 
leave  his  heart  behind  him — seems  at  first  absurd.  Will  not  a 
man  do  that  which  ho  knows  will  be  best  for  him — is  not  ignorance 
the  true  root  of  evil '?  A  man  thoroughly  sound,  morally  as  well 
as  mentally,  doubtless  would  follow  his  nobler  convictions,  would 
act  up  to  the  height  of  his  knowledge.  But  sin  means  spiritual 
mania,  means  that  a  man  shall  do  that  which  he  abhors  himself 
for  doing,  hurried  into  it  by  some  inexplicable  hallucination.  He 
who  first  comes  under  an  evil  habit,  is  conscious  of  the  power  of 
shaking  it  oflf,  he  even  flatters  himself  that  he  is  his  own  master 
long  after  he  has  become  a  slave ;  but  to  most,  to  all  in  fact,  who 
sincerely  try  to  reform,  there  comes  a  time  when  they  learn,  that 
they  are  under  an  aUen  and  hostile  power.  Every  struggle  only 
tightens  the  noose  about  the  poor  ensnared  soul. 

Is  not  the  drunkard  a  lunatic,  does  he  not  as  consciously  and 
deliberately  injiire  himself,  as  the  demoniac  that  "cut  himself  with 
stones,"  in  the  gospels?  Does  not  every  form  of  sin  contain  the 
same  awful  element  ?  Is  there  any  cure,  but  to  return  unto  Christ, 
and  unto  our  own  better  selves,  that  side  with  Him  ? 


The  PoimiNG  Out  of  the  Heart. 

■POUR  OUT  THINE  HEART  LIKE    WATER  BEFORE  THE  FACE 
OF  THE  LORQ.   ■—Lam.    77  :  19. 


HE  soul  is  pouring  out  lier  heart  like  water  before  Christ, 
who  contemplates  the  outpouring  in  pleased  attention, 
with  folded  arms.  What  is  the  use  of  confession?  Wliy 
should  I  tell  my  sins  only  to  deepen  my  shame ;  why  should  I 
unfold  my  nobler  aspirations,  only  to  prepare  for  myself  confusion 
of  face  when  I  fail  to  attain  them  ?  And  yet,  this  opeu-heartedness, 
which  seems  so  useless,  is  somehow  a  necessity  of  our  nature.  It 
does  not  at  first  seem  possible  that  there  should  ever  be  a  volimtary 


Uh  ■ 


,1  .  i 


t 


i|    L 


A     LIFE    STUDY. 


confession  of  crime.  What  good  can  it  do  the  criminal  ?  It  certainly 
doea  not  diminish  hia  crime.  But  how  many  instances  does  criminal 
history  alibrd  of  men  voluntarily  giving  themselves  up  to  justice, 
and  revealing  deeds  that,  but  for  their  unconstrained  divulgence, 
would  never  have  come  to  the  light. 

Nay,  take  even  the  unwersal  consciousness  and  confession  of 
iniquity  on  the  part  of  our  race ;  why  these  altars  and  sacrifices  of 
every  religion  and  of  every  tribe  ?  Is  not  man  free  and  proud, 
why  then  does  he  not  proclaim  himself  sinless  ?  Is  there  not  some- 
tiling  wondrous  in  tliis  great  world  leper  veiling  itself  before 
Jehovah,  and  crying  unclean,  unclean,  through  the  pure  universe 
of  God.  Here  we  have  the  secret  of  the  wondrous  vitality  of  the 
Roman  confessional;  men  must  confess,  and  if  driven  from  God 
and  Christ,  by  t)ie  repelling  sublimity  with  which  their  own  fancies 
have  invested  them,  they  will  confess  to  the  priest. 

Let  this  sweet  leading  of  nature  guide  thee  to  Jesus.  If  you 
could  say  perhaps  Nvith  Quarles : 

A  plaguo  of  leprosy  o'erspr  adeth  all 
My  powers  and  faculties:  I  nin  unclean, 
I  am  unclean ;  my  liver  broils  with  lust; 
Rancour  and  malice  overflow  my  gall ; 
Envy  my  bonos  doth  rot,  and  keeps  me  lean ; 
Rcvcnsieful  wrath  makes  mo  forget  what's  Just : 

Mine  ear's  unclrcumcisod,  mine  eye  is  evil, 

And  hate  of  goodness  makes  mo  partly  devil. 

K  80,  then  the  Savioiir  answers : 

Why  dost  thou  hide  tliy  wontifls?  why  dost  thou  hido 
In  thy  close  breast  thy  wishes,  and  so  side 

With  thine  own  fears  and  sorrows !  Like  a  spout 

Of  water,  let  thine  heart  to  Ood  break  out. 


The  Contbition  of    thk  Heabt. 

•'A    BROKEN   AN^D  A    CONTI^ITE   HEART.    0  QO-aJ,   THOU  WILT 
NOT  <^ESPTSE-  ■■—Psalm  51  :  17. 


F  you  bray  a  fool  in  a  mortar  with  a  pestle,  his  folly  will 
not  depart,  but  should  the  fool  bray  himself,  in  earnest 
resolve  to  be  wise,  there  is  more  hope.  Here  an  awakened 
soul,  anxious  for  wisdom  and  seeing  what  pernicious  things  fill  her 
heart,  is  beating  it  in  a  mortar,  beating  it  with  all  earnestness,  so 
that  the  obnoxious    contents  are  seen    coming  out    through  the 


T 


•0 


/I  LIFE    STUDY 


I 


11 

S 

i 


1  \ 


bt.ttoiu  of  tho  mortar.     Christ,  standing  by,  evidently  approves  the 
deed. 

There  is  a  strange  despotic  instinct  in  the  conscience,  which 
shows  it  was  born  to  empire.  Who  lius  not  felt  the  tierce  desire  to 
take  vengeuucu  on  one's  self,  Avho  has  not  ft>lt  a  sort  of  grim  satis- 
faction in  self-denunciation,  who  has  not  felt  a  deep  relief  undiT 
the  punitive  consequences  of  sin,  because  they  relaxed  the  fell 
wruth  of  our  own  natures.  It  was  not  Christianity,  but  human 
nature,  that  peopled  the  deserts  of  Egypt  with  self- torturing  monks, 
that  set  Simeon  Stylites  upon  his  pillar,  and  filled  tho  ascetic  roll 
down  to  our  times. 

It  is  only  when  this  instinct  is  misguided  that  it  is  dangerous. 
Wlieu  it  prompts  us  to  cast  ourselves  low  before  our  Master,  with 
hearts  broken  by  a  sense  of  sin,  when  it  keeps  us  humble,  despite 
exaltation,  then  in  its  true  office  it  ennobles,  even  when  it  seems  to 
degrade.  In  humbling  and  breaking  our  own  hearts,  we  but  save 
ourselves  the  far  more  fearful  visitations  of  divine  providence. 
Grod's  sure  march  must  bring  us  down,  sooner  or  later  ;  the  heart 
must  be  rendered  broken  and  contrite,  here  or  hereafter.  To  us 
is  left  the  choice  whether  it  shall  be  in  this  laud  of  hope,  or  in 
that  land  of  despair. 

In  mine  own  conBcience  then  aa  in  n  mortar, 
I'll  plnco  my  heart,  nnj  bray  it  'here ; 
If  grief  for  what  is  past,  and  fear 
Of  what's  to  come,  be  a  BuflScient  torture, 

I'll  break  it  all 

In  pieces  small 
Hin  Hhall  not  find  a  shred  without  a  flaw, 
Wherein  o  lodge  one  lust  ngimist  thy  Inw. 


I 


The  Humiliation  of  the  Hkakt. 

"the  patient  inspirit,  13  better  than  the  prouo 

IN  SPIRIT.  ••—Eccl    7  :  0 

HIS  19  a  companion  piece  to  the  former  picture ;  there  the 
sinful  soul  pounds  ita  own  heart,  forcing  from  it  various 
vices ;  here  Clirist  takes  up  the  incomplete  work.  The 
sinner  can  never  cleanse  himself.  See  the  difference  of  ofP.cieacy 
in  the  means  used.  The  sinner  with  weak  hand,  wields  a  puny- 
pestle;  Christ  with  strong  arm,  works  a  powerful  screw.  The 
lieart  is  squeezed  flat  beneath  it,  and  the  poor  soul,  prostrate  upon 
the  ground,  watches  the  piteous  process,  rejoicing  in  suffering. 

Slack  not  thlnu  hand 

Lord,  turn  thy  Bcrew  about :  ' 

I(  thy  preflB  stand, 

My  heart  may  chance  «llp  out. 
Oh,  quest  it  unto  nothing,  rather  than 
It  should  forgot  Itself,  and  swo'I  again. 


i 


£S 


uFE    STUDY. 


11 


Criminals  tell  us  of  the  relief  felt  in  arrest  and  even  in  punish- 
ment. Conscious  they  were  paying  the  penalty  of  their  crimes, 
in  some  sort  expiating  them,  they  felt  a  strange  sort  of  peace.  So 
the  sin-stained  soul,  conscious  of  its  guilt,  rejoices  in  the  judgments 
of  God,  that  promise  purification.  Extfjrnal  anguish  gives  inner 
peace.  Through  suffering  they  see  hope.  Sharp  and  thorny  road, 
leading  to  wide  fields  of  angels  and  light. 

There  is  in  the  truly  converted  soul  a  holy  fear,  a  sanctified 
anxiety,  accompanying  all  sinful  indulgences,  even  where  the  zest 
is  keen,  and  the  flavor  delicious.  The  morsel  is  sweet  under  the 
tongue ;  yet  it  is  known  to  be  poison,  and  welcome  is  the  bitter 
medicine  of  afiUction,  that  tones  the  moral  appetite,  and  makes  it 
reject  all  such  dangerous  sops.  Our  souls  learn  to  rejoice  in  trib- 
ulation with  a  certain  anguished  bliss  and  to  say  : 


Bo  let  it  be, 
Lord  I  nm  well  content 
And  tliou  bIihU  see 

The  time  is  not  mlsupeiil. 
IThifh  thou  dost  then  bestow,  when  thou  dost  quell, 
Ai.d  erush  tho  heart,  where  .  -".'.e  before  did  oweli. 

The  way  to  rise 

l8  to  descend    let  me 

Myself  d  'spisc, 
And  Boasccnd  with  thee; 
Thou  ihrowest  them  down  that  lift  themselves  on  high, 
And  raise  them  that  en  tl.c  ground  do  lie. 


s 


The  Softening  of  the  Heabt. 

This  loy,  marble  lu'jirt,  like  wax  will  melt, 
Sjoii  an  tlio  fire  of  heavenly  lovo  Ih  felt. 

'■'^OD  UAKKTH  r.Y.i;  HEART    30 FT  ■—Job  03  ■   23. 

0  crush  the  heart  is  not  enough.  Pound  it  in  the  mortar 
of  remorse  and  contrition,  then  lot  the  humiliating  judg- 
ments of  Christ  crush  it  flat  as  a  powerful  screw,  still  the 
work  is  not  done.  Vice  may  be  driven  out,  yet  the  virtue  that  is 
left  may  be  hard  and  repulsive.  Goodness  may  wear  porcupine 
quills.  A  work  of  softening  must  bo  done.  The  heart  must  bo 
made  gentle  ;  it  must  be  filled    full  of  tenderness.     This  none  but 


i 


iH 


li 


B4 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


Christ  can  give.  The  engraving  showa  us  a  heart  held  up  to  the 
Sun  of  liighteousness,  and  melting  beneath  his  rays,  as  the  drops 
falling  down  beneath  the  heart  indicate.  The  poor  soul  shelters 
her  eyes  from  the  blinding  radiance,  but  gladly  lifts  her  heart  to 
the  gonial,  penetrating,  life — giving  warmth  : 

Mine  heart  is  like  a  tnnrbic  Ice, 
Dutb  cold  und  hard :  but  thou  cun'st  in  a  trice 
Muit  It  liko  wax,  great  Ood,  if  from  above 
Thou  kindic  in  it  once  thy  tire  of  love. 
# 

We  all  know  the  fable  of  the  Sun  and  North  Wind,  trying 
their  power  upon  the  traveler,  which  should  make  him  throw  off 
his  cloak  soonest.  We  know  which  proved  most  powerful,  gentle 
sunshine  or  conquering,  blustering  cold.  But  do  we  i  ,ct  on  our  know- 
ledge ? 

Nothing  is  so  resistlessly  powerful  as  the  outshining  sun  of  love. 
The  natural  sun's  rays,  falling  so  softly  that  they  do  not  hurt  the 
tender  eye,  yet  daily  bend  the  mighty  shaft  of  Bunker  Hill  Monu- 
ment like  a  reed.  This  was  discovered,  by  actual  experiment  of 
scientific  men,  a  few  years  ago.  Think  of  Sunshine  swaying  that 
column  against  ^hich  the  Hurricane  hath  so  often  vainly  set  his 
great  shoulder.  So  God's  spiritual  sun  can  sway  and  soften  the 
flintiest  souls  • 

Although  mine  heart  In  hardnces  pass 

Both  iron,  steel,  r.nd  braes, 
Yea,  the  hardest  thini;  tha'  ever  was; 
Yet  If  thy  fire  thy  Spirit  accord, 
And,  workinif  with  thy  word, 

A  blessing  unto  It  afford, 
It  will  grow  liquid,  and  i  ot  drop  alone, 

13'Jt  melt  itself  away  before  thy  throne. 


The    Oleaksixg  of  thk  Heakt, 

o  jerusale'r   wash  thy  heart  fi^om  wickedness 

THAT  THOU  MAYEST  BE  SAVE^D.  ■-Jc-r    5  ■  14 


HE  heart,  pounded  in  contritions  mortar,  screwed  down  in 
tlie  crushing  press  of  God's  judgments,  and  softened  by 
the  genial  rays  of  the  Sun  of  Righteousness,  needs  only 
to  be  washed  in  the  blood  of  Christ,  to  be  every  whit  clean.  Here 
riirist  stands,  fountain-like,  while  from  the  nail  holes  in  hand 
and  foot,  and  from  the  spear  thrust  in  his  side,  pours  the  life  giving 
floodj  The  soul  chooses  the  jet  from  the  heart,  and  in  it  holds  her 
polluted  heart.  She  first  wearied  herself  out  trying  to  cleanse  it 
herself. 


hm 


'i  I 


Si 


I  i 


« 
I 


i 


so 


Jl  LIFE    STUDY. 


Ob    endlcsB  misery  I 

I  labour  bUII,  but  still  in  vaia 

The  8taln8  of  sin  I  see 
Are  fixed  all,  or  dyed  in  gralo. 
There's  not  a  blot 
Will  stir  a  jot, 
For  all  that  I  can  do  , 
There  is  no  hope. 
In   fuller's  soap. 
Though  I  add  nitre  too. 
I  many  ways  have  tried, 
llavo  often  soaked  it  in  cold  fears; 

And,  when  a  timi'  I  spied, 
Pom-ed  upon  it  fcaUlingtonrs; 
Have  rinsed  and  rubbed, 
And  scraped  and  sciubbed, 
And  turned  it  up  and  down  ; 
Yet  can  I  not 
Wash  out  one  spot ; 
Its  rather  fouler  grown. 

Then  at  lust  she  saw  the  utter  vanity  of  trjdng  to  purify  her 
heart,  when  she  herself  was  impure. 

But  am  I  not  stark  wild, 
That  go  about  to  wash  mine  heart ; 

With  hands  that  are  defllcd. 
As  much  as  any  other  j)artl 

Full  of  this  new  thought,  she  looks  about  her,  and  speeds  to  the 
true  fountain  of  cleansing. 

Then  to  tliat  blessed  spring, 
Which  from  my  Saviour's  sncrcd  side 

Dotli  flow,  mine  heart  I'll  biing; 
And  then  it  will  be  purifled. 

Although  the  dye, 

Wherein  I  lie. 
Crimson  or  scarlet  were ; 

This  blood  I  know. 

Will  make  it  as  snow, 
Or  wool,  both  clean  and  clear. 

The  lesson  of  the  picture  is  open  to  all ;  cease  trying  to  wash 
thine  own  heart  with  thine  own  foul  hands ;  cleanse  it  in  the  blood 
of  the  Lamb,  fountain  ever  open  for  sin  and  uncleanness. 


wash 
I  blood 


TuK  Mirror  of  tiik  Heart. 

■MY  BON.   0:V3   :.!E  THINE   HEART/ ~I  rov  S5  :  t'T. 

OW,  patient  soul,  hold  up  thy  heart,  all  orushed  and 
cleansi'd,  to  the  mirror  of  Christ's  heart.  There  is  that 
heart,  that  stretched  forth  wounded  hands,  praying, 
"  Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do ;"  that 
heart  which  yearned  toward  all  men,  and  cried  with  all-embracing 
invitation,  '*  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  an^  heavy  laden  ;" 
that  heart  which  only  pierced  and  bleeding  feet  could  serve,  and 
that  rested  only  in  infinite  self-sacrifice.  Hold  up  thy  heart,  and 
compare  it ;  see  thine  own  soul  as  in  a  udrror. 


n 


■i  II 


M 


i 


i 


ill 


»8 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


There  only  can  you  learn  what  is  in  man,  whether  of  guilt  or 
glory ;  there  only  can  you  tell  what  ia  acceptable  unto  God.  There 
only  can  you  tell  whether  you  have  obeyed  the  Scripture  motto, 
and  given  your  heart  uuto  God.  How  many  have  deemed  their 
hearts  right,  and  their  lives  irreproachable,  till  they  first  saw  them- 
selves in  that  mirror;  first  saw  themselves,  not  as  others  saw  them, 
for  that  too,  is  a  false  view,  but  as  they  really  were — as  God  saw 
them ;  then  they  abhorred  themselves,  and  repented  in  dust  and 
ashes. 

Here  in  the  heart  of  Christ,  we  have  the  true  monitor  of  con- 
science; the  only  reliable  code  of  morals;  the  only  effectual,  spiritual 
impulse ;  the  only  guarantee  of  steady  progress ;  the  basis  and  test 
of  civilization.  How  shall  we  bring  our  hearts  into  accord  with 
his  ?     How  shall  we  give  him  our  hearts  ? 

Lord  of  my  life,  mcthinkH  I  hear 
Theo  fiay,  that  thcu  ulono  to  fear, 

And  thou  alone  to  love, 
Ib  to  bestow  mine  heart  on  thee, 
That  other  givinj;  none  can  bo, 

Wh"reof  thou  wilt  approve. 

Should  I  not  love  thee,  blcf<acd  Lord, 
Who  freely  of  thine  own  accord 

Laid'st  down  thy  life  for  me  ? 
Forme,  that  was  i  ot  dead  alone, 
But  desperately  transcendent  gr  wn, 

In  enmity  to  thee; 
Lord,  had  I   hearts  a  million, 
And  myriads  In  every  one, 

Oi  choicest  loves  and  feiirs, 
They  were  too  Httle  to  bcHtow 
O'n  thee,  to  whom  I  all  things  owe, 

I  should  be  in  arrears. 


The  Sacrifice  op  the  Heaet. 

■'  THE    SAC-:j.^ICFS  of  GOCD  are  a    broken  heart.  ■-Fsa.  CZ  ■  ir 

|KIN  for  skin,  all  that  a  man  hath,  will  he  give  for  his 
^  soul."  To  give  what  one  has,  h  not  so  difficult  as  Bonie 
^  deem  it-giving  one's  self,  not  one's  possessions-that  is 
the  arduous  task.  If  salvation  were  for  sale,  how  many  would 
deny  themselves  to  buy  it!  Catholics  build  grander  cathedrals 
from  the  pockets  of  servants,  than  Protestants  from  the  resources  of 
their  masters.  Why?  Because  men  will  give  anything  for  salvation, 
but  themselves.     Yet  is  the  sacrifice  of  the  heart  to  God,  the  initial 


:^ii'  ISi 


r'" 


I' 


ill 


'! 


w 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


stop,  and  tlic  oasonco  of  Christianity,  To  exalt  self  was  the  beginning 
of  Bin,  to  tako  God  from  tho  contro,  and  make  a  satellite  of  him, 
nay,  to  set  tho  whole  vast  Universe  spinning  about  ourselves, 
making  all  iiitorosts  subordinate  to  ours,  and  seating  ourselves  on 
tho  throne*,  was  tho  essence  of  our  transgression. 

If  this  bu  so,  then  the  first  step  iu  our  restoration  must  be  one 
of  conscious  saci-ifico.  We  must  come  down  from  our  fancied  ele- 
vation; wo  must  acknowledge  practically  the  infinite  superiority  of 
Ciod,  by  making  him  tho  centre  of  our  being  and  eflbrt.  It  is  this 
innor  self-offoring,  that  gives  value  to  all  external  acts  of  denial. 
]Jurnt  ofierings,  and  the  fat  of  rams,  wore  as  nothing  to  God,  save 
us  they  spoke  a  heart  bowed  and  broken  in  Ills  presence. 

ISelf-sacrifico  is  the  only  road  to  success  in  living — taking  life  in 
its  true  and  broad  meaning.  To  attempt  to  bend  the  laws  of  the 
Universe,  and  the  purposes  of  the  Eternal,  to  our  own  low  ends,  is 
to  court  disastrous  and  complete  failure ;  to  sink  ourselves  iu  God, 
to  come  in  harmony  with  his  whole  system,  is  to  insure  tho  grandest 
triumph.  The  smoke  and  savor  of  tho  sacrifice  wont  up  toward 
lieaven  ;  so  through  self-denial  we  climb,  rising  ever  liighor  through 
humiliation. 

lionl,  be  my  altar,  onnctify 
Mine  heart  thy  sacriflcc,  and  let  thy  8|,irit 
Kindle  thy  flro  of  love,  tha  I, 
Bill-nine  with  zeal  to  magnify  thy  merit, 

May  hoth  consume  my  Sinn,  and  raiHO 

Etirn.al  trophies  to  thy  praise. 


The  Weighing  of  the  Heaet. 


THE  LOn<D  'S'ON^ERETH  THE  HEA^T.  ■■—PHOV.  SI   S 


HE  Soul  is  in  despair ;  she  hath  clone  all  that  she  could. 
She  brayed  that  foolish  heart  in  the  mortar  of  contrition, 
till  folly  was  driven  forth,  Christ  aiding  in  the  -work  with 
the  ponderous  press  of  his  judgments;  then  having  washed  it  in 
the  blood  of  the  Lamb,  she  offered  it  a  living  sacrifice,  and  rejoiced 
that  Jesus  received  the  poor  broken  thing.  But  he  knew  the  tamo- 
less  vanity  of  man ;  ho  knew  that  oven  in  the  blessing  of  Con- 
version, there  is  a  hidden  danger.  Vanity  may  enter  in,  ])y  the 
door  God's  mercy  has  opened.  Is  not  my  heart  something  worth, 
why  Christ  values  and  accepts  it  ? 


ta 


Jl     LIFE    STUDY 


But  tho  Saviour  will  havo  none  of  this,  ho  would  awakou  tlie 
proper  humility  of  n  sinner  saved  by  grace.  lie  liaa  accepted,  he 
does  value  that  heart,  but  only  out  of  his  infinite  compassion. 
Come,  cast  it  into  these  scales,  put  over  against  it  tho  law  cf  God : 

My  bnlai'CCH  nrojust, 

My  luwa  nil  cquitl  weight ; 
Tho  buitm  la  Htruii);,  anil  thou  may'it  trust 
My  Biciuly  hand  to  hold  It  etntlght. 
Wore  Ihlno  heart  equal  to  iho  world  In   Bight, 
Yet  It  wore  nolliina  worth,  If  it  should  prove  too  light. 


AVm 


i 


't 


Lo!  it  kicks  the  beam;  what  is  the  matter  with  this  heart,  that 
seems  so  vastiubulk,  "equal  to  the  world  in  sight?" 

HiMvch  It,  and  thou  eholt  find 

It  wants  integrity; 
Aud  yet  is  not  so  thoroughly  lined, 
With  singlc-uyed  sincerity, 
As  Itshould  be:  some  more  humill  y 
There  wants  to  make  it  weight,  with  constaney. 

Whilst  windy  vanity 

Doth  puff  It  up  with  pride, 
And  double-faced  hyp  crisy, 
Doth  many  empty  hollows  hide; 
It  Is  but  good  in  part,  and  thiit  but  little, 
Wavering  unBtal>lne^B  nvikes  its  resolutions  brittle. 

But  what  shall  this  poor  soul  do?    Can  she  do  anymore?    Is 
she  not  at  her  wit's  end  ?     Nay,  listen  further  to  Christ : 

Butir  thou  art  ashamed 

To  And  thine  heart  so  liirlit, 
A  d  art  afraid  thou  shalt  be  blaincd, 
I'll  teach  thee  how  to  set  it   right. 
Add  to  my  law  my  gospel,  and  there  sco 
My  merit's  thine,  and  then  tho  scales  will  equal  be. 


The  Trial  and  Defence  op    the  Heaut. 

•the  finin'7  pot  t3  for  silver,  an0  the' furnace  fot^  oold : 

BUT  THE  LOR^  THIETH   THE  HEARTS."— Pr-ov.  17  :  3. 


[|HE  poor  soul  sits,  with  anguished  countenance,  folding  in 
arms   all  powerless   to   protect,  a  heart,  which   has  been 

"'  mado  the  target  of  all  the  assaulting  engines  of  evil.  The 
devil  draws  his  arrow  to  the  barb,  and  leans  forward  to  get  a  truer 
aim;  the  world,  in  likeness  of  an  earth-crowned,  gaudy  woman, 
with  body  backward  thrown,  gathers  her  whole  strength  to  hurl 
her  javelin ;  while  the  lust  of  the  flesh  stoops  from  on  high,  in  the 
form  of  the  god  of  love,  to  send  his  dart,  tipped  with  infernal  fire, 
into   tliat  poor  defenceless  heart.     The  soul  is  evidently  utterly 


M 


A     LIFE    STUDY 


;i 


II 


dospondont.  Sho  (loos  not  soo  vbiitwo  boo.  Bohiiul  her  iv  shining 
ouo  stands,  and  strutcdit's  out  bol'oro  her  u  shield — tho  hoHsoH 
theroof  an)  tho  Cross  and  Crown,  and  nailprints,  and  spiuir  ;  shiold, 
forged  Ity  Christ,  in  tho  I'urnaco  of  his  own  agony;  shield,  proof 
against  all  tho  fiery  durts  of  tho  adversary.  Sooliow  tho  arrows 
fall,  quenehed  and  broken,  while  behind  tho  unseen  bulwark,  the 
boul  sits  shuddering,  and  wondering  that  sho  is  not  struck  through. 
Why  this  fierce  and  fearful  trying  of  tho  heart'i'  God  would 
tfst  it,  and  IIo  would  purify  it.  Tho  process  may  bo  jjainlul,  but 
tho  result  is  glorious.  Wlien  tho  gold  oro  is  crushed  in  tho  \io\\- 
dorous  niills,  and  plunged  into  tho  sweltering  firo,  tho  process  does 
not  seem  pleasant;  and  if  tho  gold  had  voice  and  sensibility,  it 
might  cry  out  against  tho  needless  cruelty.  '*  ^^^ly  all  this  torment  'f 
Have  I  not  lain  content  through  tho  ages  in  this  quartz  'i  Why  tear 
mo  from  my  life-long  homo  ?"  lUit  when  tho  bright  gold  flashed 
forth  in  all  its  purity,  free  from  all  dross,  wondering  at  its  own 
matchless  sheen,  it  would  say,  "  Ah,  I  see  it  all  now,  and  I  rejoice 
even  in  what  I  have  suffered." 

Tf,  in  tlio  composition  of  thine  li  ait, 

A  itubborn  stcfiy  wilfuine»«  liavc  part, 
Tiiat  will  not  bow  and  bend  to  me, 

Savo  oniy  in  a  mi-re  formality 

Of  tinBol-trimmcd  hypocriey, 
I  care  not  for  it,  tliough  it  show  as  fair 
As  tho  flrst  blush  of  the  sun-gilded  air. 


The  IjEVELLiNa    op  the  Heaiit. 

••aLADNES3  FOPx  THE  UPHIOHT  IH  JfEAF/I     -f'jrj,  07  .-  a. 
Nny,  yot  I  liavo  no'  done:  one  trlnl  tnoro 
Thine  hcnrtmuBt  unilorgo,  bcforo 
I  win  accept  of  It: 
Unless  I  Bcc 
It  uprl){lit  be, 
I  cannot  think  it  lit 
To  1)0  admitted  to  my  sitjht, 
And  to  part  ko  of  my  eternal  light, 

EBE  we  Imvo  a  level.     From  the  upper  pai-t  of  it  ha»}ifs  a 
plumb-line,  wliif^h  passes  directly  throuf^li  the  centre  of 
the  heart  of  Chi'ist,  thua   adjusting  the  level.     Beneath, 
is  a  sinner's  lieart,  whicli  Christ  on  the  one  side,  standing,  and  the 


*<J 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


soul  on  the  other,  kneeling,  strive  to  t(;st  and  correct.  The  position 
of  the  soul,  and  the  altar  boforo  it,  iiitiiuato  that  this  wt)rk  is  done 
most  appropriately  in  prayer,  or  at  least  in  a  prayerful  spirit. 

The  heart  of  Chririt,  is  the  true  test  and  revoaler  of  the  hearts 
of  men.  He  not  only  knew  what  was  in  man,  but  showed  it  forth. 
In  liiH  death,  the  sword  pierced  theeoulof  Marj',  that  the  thoughts 
of  many  hearts  might  bo  revealed. 

Dost  thou  wish  to  know  whether  thine  own  lieurt  stands  plum)  • 
with  the  lovol  of  uprightness  ?     Try  it  with  the  heart  of  Jesus. 

Caii'Rt  thou  Siot  Ri.  0  how  thino  heart  turns  aside, 
And  luaiiH  toward  tliyBcIft  How  wido 
A  distanro  thcru  is  huru  f 
Until  I  Bce 
llotli  8idc»  agree, 
Alike  with  mine 'tis  clear, 
Tlio  middle  Is  not  where  it  hhould  be  ; 
Likes  BomcthiiiK  better,  though  it  lookii  at  me, 

1,  lliat  know  best  how  to  dlsposo  thoo, 
W'juld  have  thy  portion  jioverty, 
I^st  wealth  nIiouUI  make  tlive  ]>roud. 
And  nio  forgot ; 
nut  thou  liast  set 
Thy  voice  loory  nlourt 
For  riches  :  and  iinleKg  I  grant 
All  tliou  wishest,  thou  complain'-',  ui  want. 

I,  to  prevent  thy  iiurt  by  climbing  higli. 
Would  liave  tlieo  be  content  to  llo 
Quiet  and  cafe  ))('low, 
Where  peace  doth  dwell ; 
Ihlt  thou  doft  swell 
Witli  vaHt  dcRlreH,  as  though 
A  little  l)la8t  of  vulgar  lircnih 
Wero  better  tlmn  dellvcmnce  f  om  death. 


I     I 


Mighty  Father,  help  ns  to  submit  to  the  test,  and  then  give 
ns  thino  aid,  that  we  may  bring  our  desires  into  perfect  harmony 
with  His. 


The  Enliohtknino   op  tub  Hkakt. 


"THEY  LOOKED  ON  HTM.  ANiD    V/ERE  LI0HTErP:O  •'-r.rT    S4  :  B 

ATUKALLY  our  liglit  is  darkness ;  oiirRonls,  vast  fotmtnina 
of  shadow,  ray  forth  only  gloom  ;  tlio  emanations  of  intel- 
lect and  pliilosophy,  that  wo  often  deem  so  transcendontly 
radiant,  aro  but  faint  flashes  alonj?  the  cloud-margin,  serving  to 
deepen  the  gloom.  The  Sun  of  Righteousness  rises  upon  this 
light- forsaken  realm.  In  every  heart,  that  does  not  persist  in  loving 
darkness  rather  than  light,  ho  kindles  a  littlo  of  his  own  divine 
radiance. 

In  the  engraving,  the  snn  breaks  in   full  effulgence  through 
masses  of  cloud,  that  seek  to  stay  his  coming;  lights  them  up  with 


•  PS 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


his  own  glory,  and  drags  tliem  as  captives  to  grace  his  triumph. 
At  the  same  time  Clirist  is  seen,  introducing  a  taper  into  a  dark 
heart,  which  the  glad  so"id  liolds  up  to  him. 

All  Cliristians  are  lit  by  Christ,  but  all  do  not  shine  alike. 
Some,  like  the  dark  lantern,  shut  in  their  light,  and  let  it  not  so  shine 
before  men  as  to  gain  glory  for  God;  otliors,  like  tallow  candles, 
burn  well  when  first  lit,  then  gather  snuff  on  the  wick,  and  turn 
over,  and  sputcor,  and  run  to  waate  with  feeble  hght;  others,  like 
good  sperm  candles,  burn  steadily  down  into  the  socket  of  death, 
while  others  still  are  as  beacon  ligi^ts,  flaming  on  lofty  headlands, 
and  arousing  nations  and  ages  to  the  great  conflict,  and  cheering 
them  t  J  the  great  victory. 

DarUncHH  linth  been 
My  Qoil  ami  mo  between, 
Kiko  an  opaciiUH,  OoiiblcHl  Kcreen, 
Through  which  nor  lltsht  nor  lieal  could  posBiigo  And. 
GroBH  ignorance  iiath  made  my  mind 
And  undurBtandhig  not   blear-oycd,  but  blind; 
My  will  'lall  that's  ijtood  is  cold, 
Nor  can  I,  though  I  would 
l>o  vliat  I   should. 

N.>,  now  I  BOO 
There  Is  no  remedy 
lA'ft  ir  nivBclf;  i,  cannot  be 
That  blindniss  n  the  dark  should  find   he  way 
To  blesBodncss    altbonith  tlicy  may 
Ima;;ine  ihehigli  niidniuht  '.•  noon-diiy, 
.A«  I  have  iloii,' till   now,  they'll  know 
At  last,  i.iilo  th.'ir  woo, 
'Twas  nothing  'I'v 


>         !• 


:| 


The  Floweus  of  the  IIeaiit. 

"MY  BELOVED  13  GONE  (Down  INTO   HIS  0AH<DEN,    TO  THE 

beS>s  of  spices,   to  feecd   in  the    gardens  and  to 

GA  THE}^   L:L  IES.  ■  ■-  Cant    0  :  S 

HE  great  Ilusljiimlinan  has  l)i'()kon  up  tlio  fallow  gi'ouiid 
of  the  heart,  with  tho  stem  plougsharo  of  liis  jiKlginciits. 
Ho  has  sown  in  the  t(mr-softpno(l  monUl  tho  seed  of  his 
truth.  Hi.s  lovo  has  distillofl  upon  it  tho  fructifying  dews  of  grace, 
and  noTV  He  cometh  to  look  for  tho  crop  which  it  shoidd  bear 
Nor  in  vain ;  the  glad  sold  looks  up  to  an  abundance  of  sweet 
flowers,  while  her  Saviour  gathers  for  himself  tho  fragrant  reward 
of  all  his  toil. 


40 


A   LJjrK    STUDY 


la  there  n  Joy  like  thin f 
What  cnn  niigmrnt  my  blisp  f 
If  my  bi'lovcd  will  ncct-pt 
A  poBy  of  tliesu  fiowcm,  ki  pt 
An  1  coiiac'TiiU'il  unto  his  content, 
I  liopn  hcrcnfto"  lio  will  not  n'pciil, 

Tliu  cimt  :uul  pains  he  hath  I  iHlowi'd 
Ki)  frcoly  ui)0!i  mo,  that  owed 
nini  nil  I   liiid  lit'foro 
And  Infinitely  more. 

Whnt  sny'st  thou  to  timt  rose, 
Tliiit  quci'n   of  lloworo,  whoso 
Miilden  hluslicH,  Iroi-li  nndfnir, 
Outhravo  the  dainty,  morning  nii  ? 
Dost  thou  not  In  thosn    lovely  loaves  '  h   y 
Tho  perfect 'picture  of  that  modenty, 

T  at  polf  condemniui;  sham  -faceduoHs, 
That  Is  more  ready  to  con'css 
A  fault,  and  to  amend. 
Than  it  is  to  ofTond. 

J*  not  this  Illy  pure! 

Wiiat  fuller  can  pmeure 

A  white  80  |>erfoct,  spotless,  clear, 

As  in  this  flower  doth  ni)penr» 

Dost  thou  not  in  this  milky  colour  vec 

The  lively  lustre  of  sincerity. 

Which  no  hypocrli-y  hath  painted, 
Nor  solf-respc;'tin«  ends  have  tain'ed  ? 
Can  tliere  i«e  to  thy  s'glit 
A  more  entire  d  light. 


Or  wilt  thou  have  boi'ide 

Violets  pui  pic-dyed  ? 

Tiie  8U!i-ol)servintf  marigold. 

Or  orpin  never  wnxiiin  old, 
Tlio  primrose,  cowslip,  gliiy  flower,  or  pink, 
Or  any  flower,  or  hcrh,  that  1  can  tidnk 

Thou  hast  a  mind  unto'  I  sliail 

Quickly  he  furninlied   with  them  all, 

If  once  I  do  hut  know 

That  thou  wilt  have  it  ao. 


Tm;  Watciiino  ok  thk  IIkaut. 

•■;   SLEEP    BUT  MY  HEART    WAKETH    --C.^nt    t>  ■  S. 

Whllo  tlio  soft  hand*  of  nlppp  tio  up  my  senRCB, 
My  watchful  heart,  froe  from  all  ciich  r  n'tennon, 
SearchPB  forthco,  inquitcBof  all  about  thee 
Nor  day  nor  night,  able  to  be  without  thee. 

HE  possessor  of  the  lioart  hero  sleeps,  but  tho  hoari  itself 
watches  tho  while,  and  with  wide  open  eye  observes  tho 
way  tho  Saviour  goes.  Is  not  this  paradox  ?  Can  our 
hearts  wake  while  wo  sleep,  attending  to  that  which  our  senses  do 
not  note  ?  On  closer  scrutiny,  I  think  wo  shall  find  iu  this  seeming 
contradiction  a  groat  truth. 


k  li 


JJi 


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1  '''^ 

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i  -f 

15  i:^ 


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tfg 


4    LIFE    STUDY. 


There  is  Buch  a  thing  as  spiritual  instinct,  acting  without  any 
prompting  from  reason,  acting  without  vacillation  and  without 
delay.  The  soul  rejects  certain  courses  of  conduct  and  follows 
others,  not  because  reflection  and  experience  have  shown  that  these 
aro  right,  and  those  wrong,  but  only  in  obedience  to  the  instinctive 
impulse ;  she  loves  the  one  course,  she  abhors  tho  other,  without 
thinking.  There  is  no  struggle,  no  conflict,  only  tho  sure  working 
of  instinct.  In  proportion  as  a  man  becomes  more  thoroughly 
upright,  more  and  more  of  his  conduct  ceases  to  bo  a  matter  of 
thought  and  effort,  and  becomes  a  matter  of  nature.  What  chris- 
tian has  to  be  consciously  on  his  guard  against  murder.  He  sleeps 
so  far  as  the  law,  "thou  shalt  not  kill,''  is  concerned,  but  his  wake- 
ful heart  repels  the  least  approaches  of  temptation. 

In  proportion  as  obedience  becomes  natural,  and  strengthens 
Into  habit,  in  one  department  of  our  life,  are  wo  at  liberty  to  trans- 
fer our  energies  to  some  other  department.  We  can  rely  on  the 
heart-guard,  and  shift  our  vigilance.  The  philanthropist  who  com- 
menced his  work  through  depth  of  tender  sympathy,  finds  that 
sympathy  slowly  deadened  by  familiarity  with  suffering ;  does  he 
therefore  slack  in  zeal  ?  No ;  the  instinct  of  benevolence  has  taken 
the  place  of  the  impulse  of  sympathy ;  he  does  his  work  with  equal 
energy,  but  with  more  steadiness  and  more  judgment. 

Oh  I  eonid  I  lay  nalde  thifl  flcah, 

And  follow  after  thco  "vith  fresh 
And  free  di-BircBl  my  disentangled  soul, 
Ravit>hed  with  admiration,  should  roll 

ItHcIf  and  all  its  thoughts  on  thee  ; 

And,  by  believing,  strive  tosce 
What  is  invisible  to  flesh  nnd  blood, 
And  only  by  fruition  understood, 

The  benuty  of  each  sev'ral  grace, 

Tlial  ehincH  in  thy  bun-sbaming  face. 


I 


The  WouNmNo  of  xue  IIeakt. 

■IE  HATH  BEHT  H:S    BOW,  AN<D    SET  I.fE  AS  A  MARK  FOf{ 
THE  ARROW    ■-Lam.   3  :  IS. 

A  thou8  ind  of  thy  Btrongcst  ehaftB,  my  Light, 
Driiw  up  n^airiHt  tliis  heart  with  all  thy  might, 
Anil  Hlrlko  it  thnmgh;  tlioy  that  In  docnI  do  siand 
Of  cure,  nro  lioalcd  hy  thy  wounding  liand. 

UCn  is  tho  oxcoeding  beauty  of  Quarles'  troatmont  of  this 
subject,  that   I  can  do   nothing   more   than   transcribe  it. 
The   soul,  bowed  in   anguish  by  tlie  power  of  her  pierced 
heart,  yet  cries  to  the  Saviour  who  hath  discharged  tho  arrow  : 

Nay,  spare  me  not,  dear  Lord,  It  cannot  be 
They  should  be  hurt,  that  wounded  are  by  tbcc. 


i 


M 


A    LIFE    GTUDV 


'.'   ^ 


Flrnt,  lot  the  nrrow  of  thy  piercing  oyo, 
Wlio»o  light  outvlfth  tho  itnr-Bpanglud  sky, 
Btriko  thruiigh  tht<  dnrknvBH  of  my  mind, 
And  leave  no  cloudy  mist  behind. 
Lot  thy  ro8plendciit  rnyn  of  knowledge  dart 
Bright  beaniH  of  undurRtundIng  to  mit.c  heart; 
To  my  ein-shadowcd  lieart,  wherein 
Itliiek  ignomnco  did  first  begin 
To  blur  thy  bcauteour  image,  and  deface 
Tho  glory  of  thy  celf-sufllclng  grai  e. 
Anil  let  tho  Bhnft  of  thy  Rharp-pointcil  power. 
Discharged  by  that  Rtrcng  hthat  u  ii  devour 
All  dIffieultit'R,  and  incliiio 
Stout  opp  >Hitloii  to  resign 
ItBHteely  RtubbornesH,  Bubduo  my  will ; 
Mako  It  hereafter  ready  to  fulfill 
Thy  royal  rlghteouitnegR, 
Ah  gladly  as  I  munt  confess 
It  hath  fulfilled  heretofore  th'  unjust, 
Profane  and  cruel  laws  of  ItH  own  lust. 


Then  let  that  lovo  of  thine,  which  made  llieo  leave 
The  bosom  of  thy  Father,  and  bereave 
Thyself  of  thy  tran^cendent  glory, 
(Mutter  for  nn  eternal  story !) 
Btriko  through  mine  afTectlons  a. I  together ; 
And  let  that  sunshine  clear  the  cloudy  weather, 
Wherein  th^y  wnnder  without  guide, 
Or  order  ns  tho  wind  and  tidu 
Of  floating  vanities,  transport  and  toss  them, 
'Till  Bclf-forgotten  troubles  curb  and  cross  them. 


Lord  empty  all  thy  quivers,  let  there  be 
No  comer  of  ray  spacious  heart  left  free, 

'Till  all  bo  but  one  •wound,  wherein 

No  subtle  sight-abhorring  sin 
May  lurk  in  secret  uncspled  by  me. 
Or  reign  In  power,  unsubdued  by  thoe, 
Then,  blessed  archer.  In  requital,  I 
To  shoot  thlno  orrows  back  again  will  try ; 

By  prayers  and  praises,  sighs  und  sobs. 

By  vows  und  tears,  by  groans  and   lirobs, 
I'll  sec  if  I  ciiii  pierce  and  wound  thinr  licart, 
And  vanquish  thee  again  by  thine  own  art. 


11 


;;i^ 


5^^^^^ 


The  Union  op  the  Heart. 

■•T  WILL  OTVE  THEM  ONE  HEART. ■-Ezo'k.   11  :  19. 

j|HE  soul  and  Christ  clasp  liands ;  her  heart  and  his  are  bound 
fast  together  by  cords  which  are  drawn  ever  tighter  by 
the  united  efforts  of  both.  So  closely  are  they  thus  united, 
that  both  hearts  are  surrounded  by  the  same  halo  of  glory,  the 
sinful  heart  equally  with  the  pure  heart  of  Christ. 

This  is  the  goal  toward  which  the  longing  desires  of  Christians 
tend — to  perfect  union  with  Christ.  Herein,  it  seems  to  me,  fai 
more  than  in  doctrinal  exactness,  lies  the  true  secret  of  spiritual 
success  ;  to  have  the  mind  that  was  in  Jesus,  to  have  cur  liearts 
thrill  with  his  heart,  to  feel  as  he  would  have  felt  in  our  places. 


■nUBB! 


'•  m 


&''-li 


40 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


But  how  shall   wo  attain  unto  this  I  lossednoss  '    Can  wo  not  take 

tho  pool's  udvic'o  ? 

Then  tliou  muni  not  count  nny  onrllily  thing, 
Howovor  K>ty  luid  KlorlouHly  Kct  forth, 

Of  ftny  wurtn, 
OomparoJ  with  mc,  that  am  niono 
Til'  etornal,   hlt{li,  und  lioly  Uno: 

Hut  )ilucu  thy  love, 
Only  on  me  nnd  tho  things  ohovu. 
Which  true  content  and  endlenx  ci  infort  brtnsr. 

Thon  note;  these  hearts  are  bound  together  with  thn  cords  of 
love,  and  both  pull  at  the  ends,  und  work  in  harmony  with  clasped 
hands.  Clirist's  loving  me  is  not  enough.  Infinite  were  his 
yearnings  over  Jorusaloiu  and  her  children ;  yet  wa.s  her  house 
left  desolate,  and  her  children's  carcasses  givena  prey  to  the  gathered 
eagles  of  Roman  revenge.  lie,  doubtless,  loves  every  soul  of  man, 
yet  all  are  not  saved.  If  he  alone  pull  on  the  cord  of  love,  it  is  all 
drawn  back  to  himself,  nnd  no  one  blessed.  Wo  nmst  take  hold 
and  pull  vigorously;  wo  too  must  love,  and  so  divine  attraction,  no 
longer  neutralized  by  sinful  repulsions,  does  its  work,  and  two  hearts 
become  one. 

Lovu  U  tlio  loadntono  of  tlio  heart,  tho  (jlue, 
Tho  cement,  nnd  tho  Bolder,  which  ulono 

Unites  In  one 
Tliinus  thiit  hofon?  wero  not  the  sai.ie. 
But  only  like  ;  Impartg  the  name. 

And  nature  loo, 
Of  each  to  the  other:  nothing  cnn  undo 
Tho  knot  that's  knit  bv  love,  If  It  be  t'  ue. 


II 


"h 


The  Ekst  of  tue  Heakt. 


■■RETUP.N  UNTO  THY  REST,  O  MY  SOUL  ■- Pa.  110:  7 

HE  soul  sits  contentedly  in  humility  on  the  earth,  for  her 
heart  is  clasped  in  the  Saviour's  arms,  in  tho  clouds  of 
heaven,  and  hia  peace  rays  out  on  every  side.  While  yet 
on  earth  we  can  find  content  only  by  fixing  our  hearts  on  some- 
thing beyond  earth's  influence.  The  world  might  well  answer  to 
her  disappointed  and  grumbling  worshipers — "  why  do  you  com- 
plain ?  I  have  done  what  I  could  for  you — why  do  you  expect 
peace  and  rest  of  soul  from  me  ?  What  I  give  you  is  subject  to 
abuse,  and  liable  to  be  lost,  and,  even  if  diligently  kept  through 
life,  must  be  resigned  at  death.    Besides,  it  is  not  such  as  the  soul's 


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A    LIFE    STUDY. 


i-     T'l 


appetite  craves;  only  the  great  Father  always  has  bread  to  give  ;  I 
must  often  give  a  stone  instead."  In  this  world,  we  are  in  the 
midst  of  heaving  waves,  and  can  only  find  rest  for  our  hearts,  by 
placing  them  on  the  rock — Christ  Jesus. 

But  there  we  can  find  it.  In  the  Southern  Ocean,  there  rise, 
here  and  there,  strange,  circular  coral  reefs,  which  enclose,  in  a 
continuous  ring,  a  portion  of  the  sea.  Outside,  the  startled  billows 
leap,  and  fling  themselves  on  the  barrier,  and  roar  and  fall  back, 
the  terror  of  ilie  proudest  vessels.  Inside,  the  still  waters  mirror 
the  heavens,  and  in  their  depths  are  the  coral  gardens,  mimicking 
all  floral  beauty  in  flintlike  material.  So  the  soul,  out  of  Christ,  is 
tossed,  amid  the  weltering  waters  of  a  sin-disquieted  world,  at  the 
mercy  of  every  shifting  wind  of  fortune,  every  storm  of  calamity, 
every  reef  of  despair.  But  in  the  encircling  arms  of  Ilis  protection, 
there  is  perfect  peace.  Let  the  sea  roat,  and  the  waves  thereof, 
they  cannot  shake  that  soul ;  he  is  lifted  into  the  still  air  of  heaven, 
and  regards  the  mutations  of  earth,  almost  as  do  the  cloud  of  wit- 
nesses. 

On  Thco,  then,  as  a  euro  foundation, 

A  tried  corner-stone, 

Lord,  1  will  strive  to  raise 
Tlie  tower  of  my  salvation,  and  thy  praise 
In  hee,  aa  in  my  centre,  Bliall 
Tlie  lines  of  nil  my  loiigini;  full, 
To  tlioe,  as  to  mine  anchor,  surely  tied, 

My  ship  shall  safely  ride. 

On  thee,  as  on  my  hcd 
Of  soft  repose,  I'll  rest  ray  weary  head.  ' 


TuE  B.VTnijfa  op  the  Heakt  with  the  BLooor  Sweat. 

•        Christ's  bloody  sweat  immortiil  blessingB  gives, 
As  by  its  daily  sweat  man's  body  lives. 

"/  WILL   CLEANSF,    THEIR  BLOO&,  THAT  I  HAVE   NOT  CLEANSE^.' 

Joel  S  :  SI. 

HE  drops  falling  from  the  brow  of  Christ  ropresent  the 
blood-drops  of  agony  in  Gethsemano ;  the  cup  in  the 
cloud  is  that  of  which  Ho  prayed,  "Let  this  cup  pass  from 

All  this  thy  God  hath  done  for  thee, 

\nil  now,  mine  heart. 
It  is  iiiijrli  time  thiit  thou  shouldst  bo 

Acting  thy  part. 
And  meditating  on  his  blessed  passion, 
Till  thou  hast  made  it  thine  by  imitation. 


me. 


11 


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'    I  'S 


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so 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


In  this  bloody  sweat  we  have'  an  intimation  of  our  Saviour'a 
horror,  not  of  death,  but  of  sin — it  was  the  settling  down  upon  him 
of  the  burden  of  a  world's  iniquity,  that  crushed  it  forth.  There 
he  saw  the  beginnings  of  his  Father's  aversion,  which  culminated 
in  His  forsaking  him,  even  in  the  agony  of  the  Cross.  These  drops 
are  the  prelude  to,  "  My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken 
me  ?  " 

Into  this  spirit  of  hatred  of  sin,  must  Ave,  too,  enter.  Hero 
must  we  hold  our  hearts  under  the  magic  rain,  till  they  are  trans- 
formed into  the  same  image.  But  thiough  punty  is  the  only  road 
to  abhorrence  of  iniquity,  and  wo  are  overspread  with  the  sores  of 
pollution. 

Poioon  posBCBseth  every  vein ; 

The  fountuiii  is 
Corrupt,  and  iill  the  streams  unclean; 

All  is  amiss ; 
Thy  blood's  impure,  yea,  thou  thyself,  mine  heart, 
In  all  thine  inward  powers,  polluted  art. 

And  it  may  be  that  purity  shall  come  to  us  only  through 
sufferings.  We,  too,  may  liave  hours  of  agony,  even  when  all 
about  us  seems  serene  and  juy-giving,  hours  like  Christ's  agony, 
girt  about  with  fair  trees  and  flowers,  in  a  lovely  garden  of  the 
Orient.  Shall  we  not  welcome  sufferings  that  only. ennoble  us? 
rejoicing  in  losses  that  leave  us  richer,  in  humiliations  that  lift  us 
nearer  heaven,  and  in  light  afflictions  that  prepare  for  us  a  far 
more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory.  By  the  sweat  of  our 
brows,  our  bodies  live — by  the  sweat  of  His  agony,  our  souls  live, 
and  enter  upon  everlasting  joy. 


The  New  Wink  of    the  Heart  out  of    the  Press  op  the  Cross. 

RclioM,  Uie  Cyprian  clusters  now  are  pressed; 
Aeeept  the  wine,  it  flows  to  malvo  thoo  blessed. 

■■WINE  THAT  HAKSTST  GLAT)   THE   HEART    OB'  MAN.- 

Psa.    104  :  15. 

Christ,  the  true  vine,  grape,  cluster,  on  the  cross, 
Trod  the  wine-press  nlone,  unto  the  loss 
Of  blood  and  life.    Draw  thankful  heart,  and  spare  not ; 
Uere's  wine  enough  for  all,  save  those  that  care  not. 

NDER  the  fearful  pressure  of  God's  wine-press  of  wrath, 
the  blood  is  forced,  iu  streams,  from  the  side  and  liands  of 
Christ,  and  is   caught  in  the  opening  of  the  heart  by  the 


loving  soul. 


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62 


A  LIFE    STUDY. 


Shall  he,  that  is  thy  cluster  and  thy  vino, 

Tread  (ho  wine-preas  alono, 
Whil'st  thou  Btjuid'Ht  looking  on  I  Shall  both  the  wine 

And  worlc  bo  all  his  own  t  ^ 

See  how  lie  bends,  crushed  with  the  straightened  screw, 
Of  that  fierce  wrath  that  to  thy  sins  was  due. 

The  school  of  the  heart,  that  began  with  the  Bad  lesson  of 
temptation  and  sin,  ends  here  with  the  awful,  yet  gladdening  lesson 
of  the  Cross  and  salvation.  Here  we  see  with  what  difficulty  the 
devil,  that  entered  in  so  lightly,  is  east  out.  He  came  in,  pleasantly 
disguised,  an  apple,  fair  to  look  on,  to  bo  desired  for  wisdom's  sake  ; 
he  goes  forth  with  the  agony  of  Calvary,  and  the  blood  of  the 
Anointed  one. 

Yes,  faithful  soul,  hold  thy  heart  under,  and  catch  the  spirit 
of  that  infinite  self-sacrifice ;  then  put  thyself  beneath  thine  own 
cross,  the  cross  that  he,  thy  Saviour,  hath  placed  upon  thee,  and 
strive  to  bear  it  as  patiently  as  he  bore  the  one  placed  on  him. 

Although  thou  can'st  not  lielp  to  bear  it,  yet 

Thrust  thyself  under  too, 
That  thou  mayStfeel  some  of  the  wciglit  and  get, 

Although  not  strengtli  to  do, 
Yet  will  to  suflfor  soincthlng  as  he  doth. 
That  the  same  stress  at  once  may  squeeze  you  both. 

Here  we  must  close  our  School  of  the  Heart  in  this  book ;  in 
the  world  this  school  closes  only  with  life.  Death  it  is,  that  shuts 
to  the  door,  and  dismisses  the  scholars.  May  these  few  lessons 
utir  you  to  study  on  in  the  depths  of  your  own  soul,  in  the  vicissi- 
tudes of  your  own  experience,  and  may  your  success  be  such,  that 
the  Master  may  give  you  the  prize  of  life. 

•'The  Spirit  and  the  bride  say,  come.  And  lot  him  that 
heareth  say,  Come.  And  let  him  that  is  athirst,  Come.  And 
whosoever  will,  let  him  take  the  water  of  life  freely." — Eev.  22  :   17. 

A  summer's  season  followa  winter  weather : 
Suffring,  you  shall  be  glorified  together. 


m 


\m 


.1  I 


^^xdt' 


LIFE    MIREOES. 


t^^^  '^'  '^   ^''^i^  «f  «ie  Israelites,  in  their  travels  through 
'      IT^^    ^^"^   wilderness,  that  they  wandered  like  pilgrims, 
^;^h    ''''*^'''"*  house  or  Lome;  they  fought  like  soldiers, 
jC         ^^'"  ^''**^^^  «^  the   Lord,  and  they  called  upon  the 
^  name  of  the   Lord  their   God,  who  heard  them  in  the 
midst  of  their  distress.     And  thus  it  is  that  every  good 
Christian  is  to  order  his   life :  as   a  pilgrim,  not  seeking 
high  things  for  Iiimself,  but,  having  food   and  raiment,  therewith 
to  rest  contented ;  as  a  Christian  soldier,  not  to  be  ashamed  to  con- 
fess the   faith   of  Christ  crucified,  but  to  fight  manfully  under  his 
banner  against  tho  three  arch-enenaies  of  mankind-the  world   the 
flesh,  and   the  devil;  lastly,  as   the  true   servant  of  God,  to  tread 
often  upon   the   threshold  of  His   sanctuary,  to  frequent  His  ordi- 
nances, to  be  always  in  such  a  frame  of  spirit  as  to  bless  and  praise 
and  magnify  and  speak  good  of  His  holy  name. 

It  is  said  of  the  ship  Ar^o  (the  then  sovereign  of  the  Asiatic 
seas),  that  being  upon  constant  service,  she  was  constantly  repaired 
and  as  one  plank  or  board  failed,  she  was  ever  and  anon  supplied 
with  another  that  was  more  serviceable,  insomuch  that  at  last  she 
became  all  new,  which  caused  a  great  dispute  amongst  the  philos- 
ophers of  those  times,  whether  she  was  the  same  ship  as  before  or 
not.  Thus  it  is  that,  for  our  parts,  we  have  daily  and  hourly 
served  under  the  commands  of  Sin  and  Satan,  made  provision  for 
the  flesh  to  fuUfil  the  lusts  thereof,  drawn  iniquity  with  cords  of 


6  A    LIFE    CTUDV. 

vanity,  and  sin,  as  it  wore,  with  acartropo,  anddaily,  liko  Ephraim, 
increased  in  wickedness,  insomuch  that  there  are  not  only  some 
bruises  and  blushes,  but,  as  it  were,  a  shipwreck  of  faith  and 
all  goodness  in  the  frame  of  our  precious  souls.  What,  then, 
remains  but  that  avo  should  die  daily  unto  sin  and  live  unto 
righteousness  ;  put  in  a  new  plank  this  day,  and  another  one 
to-morrow  ;  now  subdue  one  lust,  and  another  to-morrow  ; 
this  day  conquer  one  temptation  and  tho  next  another,  be 
still  on  tho  mending  hand;'  and  then  the  question  needs  not  bo  put 
whether  we  be  the  same  or  not.  For  old  things  being  put  away, 
all  things  will  become  new ;  we  shall  be  new  men,  new  creatures; 
we  shall  have  new  hearts,  new  spirits,  and  now  songs  in  our  mouths; 
be  made  partakers  of  the  now  covenant,  and  at  last  inheritors  of 
the  New  Jerusalem. 

If  a  traveller  hath  but  enough  to  bring  him  to  his  journey's 
end,  he  desires  no  more.  We  have  but  a  day  to  live,  and  perhaps 
we  may  be  now  in  the  twelfth  hour  of  that  day ;  and  if  God  give 
us  but  enough  to  bear  our  charges  till  night,  it  is  sufficient ;  let  us 
be  content.  If  a  man  had  the  lease  of  a  house  or  farm  but  for  two 
or  throe  days,  and  he  should  fall  a-building  and  planting,  would  he 
not  be  judged  very  indiscreet  ?  So,  when  we  have  but  a  short  time 
here,  and  Death  calls  us  presently  off  the  stage,  to  thirst  immoder- 
ately after  the  world,  and  pulldown  our  souls  to  build  up  an  estate. 
were  it  not  extreme  folly. 

Our  life  which  we  now  live  should  be  by  faith  on  the  Son  of 
God. 


Sg^^^^SSSg'^^'^^ 


4-^ 


Created  lialf  to  vise,  or  half  to  fall, 
Groat  Lord  of  all  things,  yet  a  prey  to  all ; 
Solu  jiidijo  of  truth,  in  cndlees  error  hurled, 
The  glory,  jest,  and  riddle  of  the  world. 

'  I  AM  FEARFULLY  AN<D  WON<S)ERFULLY  MA<DE.  "—Psalm  ISO  :  14. 


^ 


li 


^^  t'l 


.1 


of 


jE  have  in  this  impressive  picture,  the  first  of  a  series  of 
hieroglyphics  representing  the  ooixrse  of  human  life  from 
the  cradle  to  the  grave.  You  behold  a  candle,  perfect  in 
form,  and  placed  in  a  beautiful  urn.  It  ia  composed  of  matter, 
cordid  and  inert,  and  in  its  present  condition  useless,  because  it 
gives  no  light.  Such  was  the  human  form,  moulded  from  the  dust 
of  the  earth,  before  the  Creator  breathed  into  it  the  breath  of  life. 
Such,  too,  ia  man  as  fallen,  ignorant  and  depraved,  before  the  light 


:l 


m 


M 
■I 


:m 


if    V 


B  Jl    LIFE    iSTUDY. 

oi  rovolation  has  dawn»Kl  upon  his  mind,  or  his  soul  lius  boen 
renewi'd  by  tho  Holy  Hpirit.  His  natural  powora  may  bo  fully 
developed.  Ho  may  possess  skill  in  tho  arts.  Ho  may  build  cities 
whose  domes  and  turrets  rise  as  monuments  of  his  genius.  Ho 
may  invent  and  construct  the  machinery  by  wliich  tho  waters  of 
knowh^dgo  are  drawn  from  Nature's  d»'(«p  wells  ;  luit  all  liis  facul- 
ties will  lio  employed  to  little  purpose,  so  lonj?  as  tho  pull  of  spirit- 
ual (liirkness  liangs  over  them.  You  seo  two  buckets  suspended 
from  a  wheel  in  mid  air,  and  an  architectural  pile  in  tho  gloomy 
distance,  but  all  is  dark  and  silent.  TIio  picture  muuIs  light  and 
life.  Man,  in  his  natural  state,  needs  tho  li^ht  and  life  which 
God  alone  can  impart.  Hois  ignorant  of  his  origin  and  his  des- 
tiny. Flesh  and  blood  cannot  reveal  these  things  to  him,  nor  are 
tho  dim  rays  of  natural  religion  sufficient  to  guide  him  in  tho  path 
which  leads  to  happiness  and  Heaven.  Ho  gropes  in  darkness, 
feeling  after  God,  if  haply  he  may  find  him,  but  his  weary  steps 
lead  him  into  labyrinths  of  error,  where  he  stumbles  and  falls. 
la  despair  he  cries, "when  shall  I  arise  and  tho  night  be  gone?" 

"Thus  HfeleBB,  llghtlcsB,  worthlcBs,  fliut  begun 
That  gloriouB,  that  proBumptuoua  thing  cuUud  man." 


c^kb^ij    ftlo^fSiT- 


xiQC^? 


« 


Our  birth  ta  nothlnif  but  our  di'iith  begun, 
As  tapers  waste  tbut  instant  tlicy  taku  fire. 

■  A  NT)  MAN  BECAME  A  LIVING  SOUL  ■■-Oenoais  g  ;  7. 

pARK  tho  contrast  botween  this  picture  and  the  preceding. 
Instead  of  tho  gloom,  of  darkness  and  tho  stillness  of 
death,  •we  behold  the  cheerful  glow  of  life.  'J'lio  taper 
is  lighted,  but  whence  came  the  fire  ?  Wo  know  not  how  tlve  can- 
dle is  formed,  much  less  how  it  is  illumined.  The  divine  hand  that 
furnishes  the  flame  is  folded  in  a  dark  cloud  of  mystery.  We  know 
that  we  live,  because  we  think,  and  feel,  and  act.  The  blood  cir- 
culates, the  heart  beats,  the  pulse  throbs,  but  what,  and  whence, 
and  where  is  that  principle  which  we  call  life,  that  sets  in  motion 
the  complicated  mechanism  of  the  human  body,  so  fearfully  and 


fi'.',ii 


li., 

!'''■■■ 


•1      .■  H- 


mm 


10 


A    LiFK    STUDY. 


■l\\ 


wonderfully  made  ?  Man  cannot  unravel  the  mystery  of  his  being. 
His  life  is  threefold ;  physical,  sustained  by  food,  intellectual,  fed  by 
kno-.vledge,  and  spiritual,  imparted  and  nourished  by  the  Holy 
Spirit. 

In  the  foreground  of  this  picture,  we  see  two  tablets,  on  which 
the  recording  angel  waits  to  write  the  history  of  man's  life,  thus 
teaching  us  that  life  is  a  sacred  trust,  and  connected  with  solemn 
responsibilities.  On  the  right  of  the  urn  are  two  faces ;  thus  man 
looks  heavenward  and  earthward,  for  he  has  interests  in  botli 
worlds.  Thus  also  hope  peers  into  the  future,  and  memory  turns 
to  the  past.  Their  faces  are  very  different  in  their  expression ; 
the  one,  calm  and  peaceful,  is  the  symbol  of  a  contented  christian 
life,  the  other,  sad  and  sullen,  portends  a  career  of  giiilt  and  shame. 
Who  can  tell  when  the  candle  is  lighted,  whether  it  will  burn  to 
cheer  and  illumine  the  world,  or  merely  to  attract  the  foolish  insect 
to  its  destruction.  On  a  branch  of  the  tree,  you  may  discover  a 
dove,  the  emblem  of  love  and  purity,  bending  over  the  scene,  a 
token  of  that  divine  benevolence  which  gives  us  life,  and  that 
human  charity  which  sweetens  its  sorrows  and  lightens  its  burdens ; 
and  a  symbol,  also,  of  that  divine  Spirit  who  broods  over  the  dark- 
ened soul,  as  he  moved  upon  the  chaos  of  old,  and  wakens  it  to 
life  and  love.  Thanks  be  to  God,  for  the  life  and  immortaUty 
V' nought  to  light  through  the  gospel,  which  teaches  man  how  to 
live  and  how  to  die. 

"  Our  better  nature  plneth— let  It  be  I 
Thou  human  pouI— Eirth  is  no  homo  for  thee, 
Thy  Btairy  rest  ]a  in  Eternity." 


Troops  of  unknown  diseases,  sorrow,  age, 
And  death  assail  him  with  successive  rage. 

■'  AND  THE  WINCD  C^^I^RIE^    THEM  AWAY.'  -Daniel  S  .-  36. 

OW  frail  is   human   life— a  vapor,  a   breath,  a   flickering 
flame. 

"  At  best  a  brief  delight, 
A  Bun  Bcarcc  brightening  ore  It  siniis  in  night. " 

Sorrow  and  danger  meet  the  child  on  the  threshold  of  its  earthly 
existence.  The  taper  so  recently  lighted,  and  burning  with  a 
gentle  flame,  is  suddenly  assailed  by  '« sorrow  with  her  full-mouthed 
blast."     "  Man  is  bom  to  trouble  as  the  sparks  fly  upward."     We 


19 


A   LIFE  STUDY 


\l\ 


li 


come  into  a  world  of  disease  and  suflTering.  The  child's  first  utter- 
ance is  a  cry.  Beneath  the  cloud  is  a  portico,  indicating  that  life  in 
its  very  beginning  is  exposed  to  danger.  The  flame  unable  to  resist 
the  blast,  bends  over,  and  with  irregular  heat  wastes  the  candle 
itself.  Trouble  and  sickness  not  only  imperil  life,  but  diminish  the 
vital  forces  by  producing  a  feverish  flame  both  unsteady  and 
destructive.  Nor  is  there  any  way  of  escape.  The  walls  of  the 
nursery  are  no  protection  from  the  envious  winds.  A  mother's 
arms  cannot  shield  her  darling  from  the  destroj'er,  who  gathers 
by  far  the  largest  number  of  his  trophies  from  the  tender,  fra- 
grant buds  of  infancy :  the  wind  passeth  over  them  and  they  are 
gone. 

To  what  rude  blasts  of  temptation  also  are  the  young  exposed  in 
this  age  of  abounding  iniquity !  The  flame  of  mortil  principle 
suddenly  assailed,  too  often  yields.  The  passions,  which  seem  so 
well  controlled,  bend  to  the  blast,  and  with  irregular  fires  consume 
the  vital  powers,  and  defile  and  dei:  *roy  the  beautiful  ura  itself. 


>  i.M„ 


"  What  war  so  cruel,  or  wliat  Biigu  so  Borc, 
As  that  which  Btrong  temptation  doth  apply 
Against  the  fort  of  reason  evermore, 
To  hring  the  soul  iii'o  Captivity." 


:t 


But  there  is  One,  who  was  in  all  points  tempted  like  as  we  are,  yet 
without  sin,  and  He  is  able  to  succor  the  tempted.  There  is  no 
earthly  refuge  from  trials.  The  taper  cannot  be  placed  where  the 
blast  will  not  reach  it,  for  in  this  world  we  must  have  tribulation. 


'The  path  of  sorrow,  and  that  path  alone, 
Leads  to  the  land  whore  sorrow  is  unknown." 


But  the  hand  that  lighted  the  candle  still  remains  concealed  in  the 
cloud,  and  holds  the  winds  in  its  firm  grasp. 


il 


Out,  ye  impostors  I 
Quack-salviiig,  cheating  raountebanljB— yonrslsill 
Is  to  malce  sound  men  siclf,  and  siclc  men  kill. 

'  YE  ARE  ALL  PHYSICIANS  OF  NO  VALUE.  ■-Job.  13  .-  4 

|HE  lighted  taper  is  now  exposed  to  a  new  peril.  The  urn 
has  assumed  a  different  form.  The  ears  of  serpent  shape, 
the  starry  zone  above  with  the  astronomical  signs,  the 
pecuUar  dress  and  expression  of  the  old  man,  with  the  snuffers  in 
one  hand  and  a  fanlike  instrument  in  the  other,  denote  the  pres- 
ence of  an  astrologer,  whose  hidden  mysteries  and  magic  arts  for- 
merly   obscured  the  science    of  medicine.    The  healing  art    has 


(' 

m 


■^  I 


24 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


.  I  ■■ 


IS  ,4 


become  more  eimple  and  practical,  ar  U  therefore  more  valuable  to 
suffering  humanity.  But  the  world  ia  doctored  too  much,  and 
especially  by  ignorant  or  unprincipled  pretenders,  who  force  their 
nostrums  upon  a  too  confiding  pubHc.  Many  a  taper  which  would 
have  burned  with  a  moderate  flame  down  to  the  socket  of  old  age, 
is  trimmed  by  unskillful  hands,  until  in  an  evil  hour  its  light  is 
snuffed  out.  Nature  has  her  laws,  and  always  resents  unnecessary 
interference.  The  vigorous  flame  must  have  pure  oxygen ;  it  dies 
amid  unwholesome  vapors.  There  is  no  secular  profession  more 
useful  and  noble  than  that  of  a  good  physician ;  none  more  con- 
temptible than  that  of  an  avaricious  quack,  who  takes  advantage  of 
the  anxious  fears  which  disease  always  excites,  and  trifles  with 
human  life.  The  same  despicable  class  of  physicians  is  found  in 
every  walk  of  life.  They  prescribe  and  offer  their  remedies  for 
all  the  domestic,  social,  political  and  religious  evils  under  which 
the  world  groans.  Their  prescriptions  almost  rival  in  number  the 
recipes  of  the  pharmacopoeia.  Reader,  beware  of  all  deceitful 
panaceas  whether  for  the  body,  or  for  the  soul.  Man's  fatal  malady 
is  sin: 

"  The  fruitful  parent 
Of  woes  of  all  dimensions." 

The  great  physician  is  Christ,  and  the  only  effectual  remedy  is 
his  blood,  that  cleanseth  from  all  sin.  Philosophy,  science,  all  the 
wisdom  of  this  world,  and  all  the  pretended  revelations  of  those 
who  profess  to  commune  with  the  stars,  or  with  the  spirits  of  the 
departed,  are  useless  medicines  for  a  sin-sick  soul.  The  balm  of 
Gilead  alone  can  heal  every  hiunan  malady. 


"  Physician  of  my  fainting  soul, 
One  word  of  thine  shall  make  me  whole ; 
One  touch— one  timid  touch  of  thee, 
Shall  set  my  long-bound  spirit '   -e" 


^^^'^^m^i 


With  his  broad  tegit  thrown  aroui.d, 
Unmoved  shall  I  maintain  my  ground, 
Though  all  the  fiends  of  hell  combined 
To  harass  and  confound  my  mind. 

•  the:  I.OR0  OO©  IS  A  SUN  AN^  SKIELSi  --p..,^  ,„  ,, 

|HE  picturo  now  presented  is  beautiMly  sugfrestive.  The 
gemus  of  evil  is  sHUin  the  cloud,  with  cheeks  distended 
by  h,s  efforts  to  blow  out  the  light,  but  his  envious  breath 

hoMs  a  screen  around  the  flame,  and  effectually  protects  it.  The 
suush.ues  mthe  sky  above,  shedding  his  rays  upon  the  viUal 
sp™  on  the  other  side  of  the  placid  strean..  Ever^hing  be  W 
peace  and  security.     The   only  e.bleu.  of  danger  I  the  foolishfly 


hi 


I 
I 


fi 


^w 


le 


fi    LIFE    STUDY. 


that  seems  bent  on  its  own  destruction.     Sad  indeed  would  be  the 
condition  of  man  in  this    world  with  no  better  safeguard  than  his 
own  skill  and  foresight,  with  all   his   precautions  he  is   constantly 
exposed  to  danger.     If  we  take  the  experience  of  a  single  day  how 
often  might  we   say,  "There  is  but  a  step  between  me  and  death." 
But  that  one  stop  is  enough  for  safety,  because  "Ho  will  give  his 
angels  charge  over  thee,  to   keep  thee  in  all  thy  ways.     They  shall 
bear  thee  up  in  their  hands."     How  often  iu  the  day  and  through 
the  night,    do  angel  hands  hold  the  screen  of  divine  protection 
between  the  Candle  and  the  blasts,  which  might  extinguish  its  light 
in  a  moment.       Fatal  accidents,   as  they   are   termed,    are   daily 
occurring,  but  when  wo  consider  how  many  dangers  surrround  us, 
and  what  a  frail  thing  life  is,  we  are  amazed  that  so  many  escape. 
Who  can  survey  his  past  life,  and  not  see  the  marks  of  a  special 
Providence.     Yes,  even  the  hairs  of  our  heads  are  all  numbered. 
He  who  gave  us  life   guards  the  treasure  for  us.     A  taper  lighted 
and  exposed  to  the  storm  is  a  picture  of  man  without  divine  protec- 
tioi ..     But  the  child  of  God  can  take  comfort  iu  the  assurance  that 
the  arms  of  infinite  love  are  around  him,  and  no  power  can  snatch 
him  from  the  embrace  of  his  Father.     The  same  angelic   care  is 
exercised  over  the  spiritual  life  which  Satan  endeavors  to  destroy. 
His  poisonous  blasts   cannot  touch  the  flame,  for  it  is  protected  by 
the   screen  of  paternal  love  held  by  the  hands  of  angels,  for  "are 
they  not  all  ministering  spirits  sent  forth  to  minister  unto  them  who 
shall  be  heirs  of  salvation !" 

"  How  had  this  slender  Inch  of  taper  been 
Blasted  and  blazed,  had  not  this  heavenly  screen 
Curbed  the  proud  blast,  and  timely  stepped  between." 


ill 


AU  hiiil,  thou  viewlcHS  one    whose  lonulywings 

Sweep  o'er  the  Earth,  unw.  aried  and  sublhne  I 
Mysterious  agent  <  t  the  King  of  kings, 

Whom  conquerors  obey,  and  man  calls  Time. 

■IS  THEJ^E  NOT  AN  APPOINTED  TIME  TO  MAN  UPON  EARTH.  --Job  7  :  1. 

EHOLD  our  helpless  taper  again  in  peril.  The  angel 
with  the  screen  has  departed  and  an  enemy  has  taken  his 

'  place.  The  gnomon  marks  the  passinghours.  The  candle 
is  more  than  half  consumed,and  the  sun,  though  still  shining  brightly, 
is  fast  dechning  toward  the  Western  horizon.  Death  stands  with  his 
arrow  in  one  hand — and  an  extinguisher  in  the  other,  ready  to 
put  out  the  trembling  flame.  But  what  holds  him  back  ?  Time 
grasps   the   skeleton  arm,  and  both   gaze   upon   the  hour    glass, 


IB 


jl    LIFE    STUDY 


'  ;  'Ih 


watching  for  the  dropping  of  the  last  sands  which  will  be  the  sig- 
nal for  time  to  spread  his  wings,  and  death  to  do  liis  work.  Death 
has  been  watching  that  flame  with  jealous  eyo,  from  the  first  » 
moment  of  its  existence.  lie  holds  his  extinguisher  over  every 
lighted  taper,  for  "  Death  has  passed  upon  all  men."  He  is  the 
relentless  enemy.  What  is  death,  but  the  end  of  life's  consuming 
work  ?  We  begia  to  die  as  soon  as  we  begin  to  live,  and  the 
struggle  ia  short,  and  is  sure  to  end  in  the  victory  of  deatli  over 
this  mortal  life.  Wliy  then  does  he  hasten  to  extinguish  the 
light  which  must  so  soon  go  out  ?  Why  so  eager  to  seize  with 
violence  the  prize  that  will  ere  long  foil  into  his  hands  ?  *'  Insa- 
tiate archer!"  So  far  shalt  thou  go,  and  no  farther;  thou  canst 
not  speed  that  fatal  dart,  till  God's  appointed  time  release  thy  hand. 
0,  how  comforting  the  thought  that  my  times  are  in  his  hand. 


"  I'll  go  and  come,  nor  fear  to  die, 
Till  from  on  high,  He  tails  mo  home." 


Death  puts  his  extinguisher  upon  many  a  bright  flame  in  its  early 
glow,  but  he  cannot  defeat  the  purposes  of  God.  Doddridge  when 
an  infant  was  given  up  to  die.  Moses  was  left  to  perish  in  the 
flags  by  the  river's  brink.  Death  was  sure  of  his  prey,  but  Tine 
triumphantly  held  up  his  glass  full  of  the  sands  of  life.  God's 
purposes  were  to  be  accomplished.  Go  forth  then  to  duty,  even 
though  the  path  lead  through  danger.  Man  is  immortal  till  his 
work  is  done.  But  the  hour  must  come  at  last,  and  to  the  Chris- 
tian also. 

"  Death  is  the  crown  of  life ; 
Wcro  death  denied,  poor  man  would  live  in  valn^ 
Death  wounds  to  cure ;  we  fall,  we  rise,  we  reign ; 
Spring  from  our  fetters,  fasten  to  the  skies. 
Where  blooming  Eden  withers  from  our  sight. 
This  king  of  terrors  is  the  Prince  of  Peace." 


Shine  fortli,  eh  no  forth,  Eternal  Light, 
Ana  penetrate  the  lieavy  night, 

That  presses  down  the  soul. 

■^OREV-r,  THAT  Wn:Cff  WAS  MA^I,    GLORIOUS  I-TACD  NO   GLO^Y  IK 
THIS  RESPECT.  BY  REASON  OF  THE  GLORY  THAT EXCELLETH.  " 

S  Coi'.  3  .  10. 

HIS  taper  gives  no  light.  What  has  happened  to  it? 
Is  this  picture  an  illustration  of  the  fearful  truth  that  "  the 
light  of  the  wicked  shall  be  put  out,  and  the  spark  of  his 
fire  shall  not  shine?"  We  think  not.  The  feeble  taper  still  shines, 
but  it  is  obscured  by  excess  of  light  from  the  bright  beams  of  the 
sun.     It  is  high  noon,  and  the  solemn  bird  of  night  has  sought  his 


io 


A    IdFE   aruDY. 


:[!' , 


retreat  in  the  hollow  trunk  of  that   old  troo.     The  glorions  kinpj  of 
(lay  is  on  liis  throne  in  llio  h(>avons,  and  the  tapor  lights  vanish. 
What  is  liuinan  wisdoin,  compared  with   that  infinite   knowledge 
tliat  searches  the  heart,  and  comprehends   all  the   events  of  time 
and  eternity,  in  one  vast  thought?      What  is  the  might  of  man, 
compared  with  the  power  of  Him  who  rolls  the  planets  in  their 
orbits,  and  weighs  the  mountains  in  bcales,  and  the  hills  in  a  balance  ? 
What  is  the  glory  of  human  greatness,  when  compared  with  the 
majesty  of  that  divine  Being  who  sits  enthroned   in  the   highest 
heaven,  before  whose  elfulgence  angels  veil  their  faces  ?     Human 
reason,  which  wo  are  wont  to  extol  so   highly,  is  biit  a  taper  light 
in  the  bright  beams  of  revelation.     The   scintillations  of  hunian 
genius  are  but  the  sparks  from  an  anvil.     How  dark  would  bo  the 
condition  and  prospects  of  man,  with  no  light  from  above,  no  rays 
of  knowledge,  save  those  admitted  from  his  own  intellect.     Man  is 
but  a  glow-worm,  whose  feeble  light  flashes  for  a  moment  and  is 
gone.     But  how  glorious  is  my  Saviour.     Even  on  Mount  Tabor, 
human  eyes  wore  blinded  by  his  radiance.     On  Patmos,  the   seer 
fell  down  as  one  dead  before  his  glorious  presence.     The  New 
Jerusalem  shall  have  no  need  of  the  sun,  because  of  the  light  of 
the  Lamb.     Other  light  cannot  shine   when  his  glory  is  unveiled. 
The  wisdom  of  man  is  foolishness  with  God.     The  lamp  of  his 
truuh  obscures  all  human  tapers  ;  the  beams  of  his  glory  render  all 
the  rays  from  earthly  suns  invisible.     I  rejoice  in  this,  that  my 
Saviour  may  be  all  in  all,  for  he   shall  shine  on  me,  and  I  shall  be 
like  him,  for  I  shall  see  him  as  he  is. 


'   » 


'  Then— transporting  (houglit— thy  glory 
Shall  thy  risen  church  cnshi  ino ; 
Then,  while  countless  hosts  adore  thee. 
Heaven  and  glory  shall  be  mine." 


I  ■■ 


■  n 


i''    M 


Heavi'ii  (locB  with  us, as  we  witli  toi-chos  do; 
Not  light  them  for  thomselvoH ;  for  if  our  virtuen 
Did  not  go  forth  of  us,  'twere  all  alike 
As  if  wo  had  them  not. 

■  IF  THEREFOR-R  THE  LIGHT  THA  T  IS  IN  THEE  BE  DARKNESS.  HOW 
ORE  A  T  IS  THA  T  ^DARKNESS.  •'—Matt    Q  :  SS. 

HAT  means  this  sad  and  gloomy  picture  ?  The  sun  is 
almost  totally  eclipsed ;  the  lantern  is  entirely  dark,  and 
rests  upon  a  coffin,  and  a  beetle,  apparently  dead,  lies  on 
the  ground.  Everything  indicates  darkness,  ending  in  death.  Alas  ! 
whither  has  the  light  fled  ?  Is  this  a  solemn  representation  of  the 
end  of  all  flesh,  when  the  candle  of  life  is  burned  out  ?    Is  this  an 


If,  1 


M  V\ 


ff 


.yz  r,:Fi7  RTVixY 


1 1'  :' 


;   ■ 


einhloin  of  doatli?  Wo  think  not;  tho  flunin  ip  not  yotoxtiiif^uinh- 
ed — it  is  only  hidden  from  view.  IJcliold  lituo  ii  rocluMO,  rotirtid 
from  th(5  world,  and  nhut  up  in  ii  nioniistory,  whom  hin  lifo,  liow- 
ovor  virtuous,  can  have  no  inlluonco  ujjon  his  follow-nion.  liohold 
horo  a  butkslidor,  onco  u  bright  professor,  but  now  fur  ustray  from 
holiness — neglecting  religious  ordinau(!es,  and  tho  duties  of  charity, 
and  presenting  no  bright  side  to  nltriict  tho  world  to  Christ.  Uo- 
liold  liero  tho  useless,  dark  lantern  professor,  tho  unfruitful  vine, 
the  barren  fig  troo.  Keader,  look  on  this  picture,  and  ask,  "  Is  it 
I  ?"  Tiiero  nro  a  groat  many  candles  hidden  ns  if  under  a  bushel. 
A  christian  lifo  tluit  shines  with  the  lustro  of  sincerity,  is  beautiful 
indeed.  "Tho  light  is  sweet,"  and  there  is  no  more  cheering  light 
than  that  which  radiates  from  a  holy  lifo.  When  Christ  is  formed 
in  tho  soul  *;ho  hope  of  glory,  his  beams  will  shine  through  all  the 
windows  by  which  the  .soul  communicates  with  the  outer  world.  A 
believer  has  light  within  him — tho  light  of  reason,  of  conscience, 
of  truth,  of  tho  Holy  Spirit,  of  Christ  himself.  How  can  his  lifo 
be  dark?  " The  lust  of  the  flosh,  the  lust  of  tho  eyes,  and  the 
pride  of  life,"  may  dim  tho  light  of  a  christian  profession.  But 
how  awful  is  such  a  condition,  when  men  love  darkness  rather  than 
light,  and  are  so  neglectful  of  God's  Word,  that  even  the  lamp  of 
life  itself  is  to  them  as  darkness. 

The  Duke  of  Luneburg  engraved  on  his  coat  of  arms  a  lighted 
candle,  with  the  initials  of  the  words,  "  Ministering  to  others,  I 
consume  myself."  Such  was  the  hfe  of  Jesus,  and  such  should  be 
the  life  of  every  follower  of  Jesus.  Christian,  the  Holy  Spirit 
illumined  thee,  that  thou  mightest  be  a  light  to  others.  "  Let  your 
light  so  shine,  that  men,  seeing  your  good  works,  may  glorify  your 
Father  which  is  in  heaven." 


(I  bo 
Spirit 
your 
your 


^Mg>=r^;y''>^i<^^^g^yV^^^ 


now  oft  hcnrt-oick  nnil  gore, 
I've  wUlieil  I  wcrcoiKo  inoro 
A  llttlo  child. 

mATN  UP  A    cmL<D  IN  THE    WAY  UK   SHOULD  00;     AN^ 

WHEtr  H3  IS  OuD  Hal  W'.ZjL  NOV  DF.PART  Fl^OXT  IT.'' 
Provp.fba  SS  :  6 

jlHE  procodinjif  illustrations  have  prosentod  man  in  a  variety 
of  rcldtions  and  conditions,  without  regard  to  any  regular 
progres  '"on  of  time.  Tlioao  which  follow  repi'osent 
human  life  as  divided  into  seven  periods,  of  ton  years  each.  All  the 
candles,  except  the  first,  are  marked  off  into  spaces  corresponding 
with  these  numhers.  The  ono  before  us  represents  the  first  decade 
of  earthly  existence,  the  period  of  childhood.  On  the  left  of  the 
figura,  we  see  the  earth,  denoting  the  origin  of  our  bodies,  and 
their  destination ;  on  the  right,  a  crescent  moon,  suggesting  growth, 
while  a  cradle  and  a  toy  upon  the  ground,  remind  ua  of  playful 
and  helpless  infancy. 


'^i; 


i 


i,; 

V, 

I'll 


',1 


f , 


t4 


A     LIFE    STUDY. 


An  infant !  What  hopes  and  feara,  what  joys  and  sorrows 
what  promises  of  good  or  ill  what  a  career  of  glory  or  of  shame, 
are  wrapped  up  iu  that  littlo  germ.  Is  it  a  bud  that  will  open  into 
the  fragrant,  full  blown  rose,  or  is  it  destined  to  be  nipped  by  an 
untimely  frost  ?  What  sympathies  are  stirred  by  the  sight  of  a 
little  child  ?  We  who  have  half  finished  our  voyage,  know  some 
of  the  trials  that  await  the  young  ad\  enturer  on  life's  ocean.  Igno- 
rant, unsuspecting,  helpless,  and  thoughtless,  his  infancy  consumed 
in  eating  and  sleeping,  little  does  he  dream  of  storm  or  wave. 

"  We  spend 
A  ten  years'  breath , 
Before  wo  apprehend 
What  'tis  to  live  or  fear  a  death ; 
Our  childish  droams  are  filled  with  painted  joya, 
Which  please  our  sense  awliilo,  and,  waUing,  prove  but  toys," 

Yet  the  first  ten  years  of  life  is  the  most  important  period  of  all 
for  training.  The  plant  is  tender,  and  will  yield  to  the  influence 
that  bends  it  in  any  direction.  And  now  what  discretion  is  needed 
to  train  wisioly ;  to  discern  the  natural  capacity  of  the  child,  to  fur- 
nish the  mind  with  proper  aliment  and  culture,  to  mould  the  charac- 
ter, guide  the  conduct,  excite  and  quicken  the  mental  powers,  give 
a  practical  cast  to  the  judgment,  and  above  all  to  instil  the  prin- 
ciples of  true  piety.  "The  nursery  anticipates  the  school,  and  the 
church."  Parents  should  exercise  great  care  in  the  selection  of 
nurses  and  teachers  for  their  children,  and  should  never  give  them 
up  entirely  to  the  care  of  even  the  best.  The  mother  is  the 
divinely  appointed  nurse  and  teacher  of  the  child,  and  she  will 
realize  her  responsibility  when  she  remembers  that 

"  Childhood  shows  the  man, 
As  morning  shows  the  day." 

Sweet  childhood !  sanctified  by  the  example  of  the  Saviour,  who 
was  once  himself  a  child,  and  afterward  took  the  little  ones  in  his 
arms  and  blessed  them. 


pur,  who 
lea  in  his 


Youthisevorapt  tojiulifo  in   ln.stt', 
And  lose  the  nieiliu!U  in  I'uu  w'.Ul  oxtrcmc. 

■FOR  CHTLQHOO'D  ANdJ  YOUTH  ARS  VAilITY.  ' -Eaa  11  „ 


10. 


LAEGE  proportion  of  the  human  race  never  finish  the 
first  period  of  ten  years.  Heaven  is  full  of  infants, 
and  earth  of  empty  cradles.  But  time  has  begun  his 
second  stage,  and  we  behold  the  bud  of  childhood  bu^'sting  gently 
and  beautifully  into  the  flower  of  youth.  On  the  left  of  the  figure, 
we  discover  the  planet  Mercury,  the  swift- winged  god,  and  on  the 
right  a  peacock  ;  while  belo\7,  a  rash  youth  is  being  thrown  from  a 
horse.  These  symbols  denote  the  activity  and  bravery  of  youth ; 
the  pride  and  vanity  which  sometimes  characterize  that  period,  and 
the  heedlessness  which  always  marks  a  stage  of  imperfect  develop- 
ment of  the  reasoning  powers.  "It  is  the  fault  of  youth,"  said 
Seneca,  "  that  it  cannot  govern  its  own  impetuosity."    And  yet. 


lifM 


m 


ilf 


m 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


■':h\ 


!],■* 


this  is  tho  proper  time  for  curbing  the  passions,  and  obtaining  the 
mastery  over  self  He  is  happy  who  willingly  submits  to  bear  the 
yoke  in  his  youth.  A  young  man  denying  himself,  and  taking  up 
his  cross,  is  a  noble  spectacle.  Jesus  looked  upon  one  who  had 
almost  readied  this  point,  and  loved  him.  The  beloved  and  loving 
John  said,  "/.have  written  unto  you,  young  men,  because  ye  are 
strong."  The  young  men  under  twenty,  in  any  community,  consti- 
tute a  most  important  element  in  its  social  and  moral  forces. 
Human  life  has  been  compared  tO  a  river  issuing  from  a  mountain 
spring,  gushing  forth  from  Tocks,  falling  into  deep  glens,  and  mean- 
dering through  wild  and  j  icturesque  regions,  before  it  widens  into 
the  broad  stream.  Caln\  in  its  flow,  bearing  upon  its  bosom  the 
stately  vessel,  and  slrwly  pursuing  its  majestic  way  to  the  sea. 
The  first  part  of  its  course,  represents  youth  thundering  and  dash- 
ing headlong  over  the  rocks  of  temptation,  and  foaming  in  its  folly  ; 
but,  by  and  by,  the  stream  will  flow  calmly  along,  within  its 
appointed  channel. 

What  a  glorious  opportunity  has  the  youth,  before  ho  reaches 
twenty  years,  to  mark  out  his  future.  How  kind  or  cruel  he  may 
be  to  the  old  man,  w^.om  he  expects  to  become.  "  Live  as  long  as 
you  may,"  says  Southey,  "the  first  twenty  years  form  the  greater 
part  of  your  life."  They  appear  so  when  they  are  passing ;  they 
seem  to  have  been  so  when  we  look  back  to  theni ;  and  they  take 
up  more  room  in  our  memory,  than  all  the  years  which  succeed 
them.  Habits  are  then  formed  for  life.  The  process  of  education, 
especially  in  colleges,  is  a  severe  ordeal.  It  lias  been  said,  that  if 
a  young  man  can  pass  through  it  unscathed,  he  -s^-ill  be  safe  for  the 
future.  Religion  alone,  can  keep  him  secure.  "Wherewithal 
shall  a  young  man  cleanse  his  way  ?  By  taking  heed  thereto 
according  to  thy  word." 

"Tliridi?  liiippy  hu  whoai?  downy  age  had  been 
Reclaimed  by  gcourges  from  tho  prime  of  gin ;  , 

And  early  seaioned  witli  tho  taste  of  tnith, 
Remember?  his  Creator  in  his  youth." 


^®^^<;^^^\^)^2^ 


Can'st  thou  rejoice— rejoice  th.it  time  flies  fast  f 
That  night  shall  shadow  soon  tliy  summer  sunt 

■  WHEN  I  BECAME jS  MAU.  I  PUT  A  WA  Y  CHILDISH  THINGS.  " 

1  Cor.  23  :  11. 

HIS  picture  represents  the  period  of  life  between  the  age 
of  twenty,  and  of  thirty  years.  Not  more  than  one  half 
of  the  human  race  live  to  pass  through  this  period,  and 
during  its  continuance,  death  mows  down  rich  harvest  fields  ere 
their  blossom  has  given  place  to  ripening  grain.  The  artist  has 
here  symbolized  the  passions  which  in  opening  manhood  are  most 
susceptible,  and  which  need  the  guiding  and  restraining  hand  of 
reason  and  religion.  The  character  on  the  right  represents  Venus, 
while  Cupid's  bow  and  arrows  lie  on  the  ground  beneath.  The 
goat,  worshiped  by  the  heathen  with  abominable  rites,  also  symbo- 


B8 


ji     LIFE    STUDY. 


li/i)H  the  lower  animal   nature  wliich  it  is  tlie  noble  ambition  of  a 
gond  man  to  subdue.     At  twenty,  most  young  men  have  marked 
out  tlu'ir    path,  chosen  their  life  -work,  and  are  putting  on  their 
iirnior  for  the  grand  struggle.     Ere  th^y  r(>a(li  thirty,  many  of 
their  li()i)i's  will  have  been  realized  or  blighted  forever.     The  rash 
ardor  of  youth  baa  subsided  into  the  more  steudy  energy  of  man- 
hood, and  busiu8s3  relations  are  formed.     Some,  beginning  ■with  an 
inherited  fortune,  become  spendthrifts  and  end  their  days  in  poverty. 
Others,  trained  toindustiy  and  virtue,  press  on  in  the  race  of  life, 
andwinthe  prize  of  wealth  and  honor.     Some  listen  to  the  syren 
song  of  pleasure,  and  turn  aside  to  drink  the  Civcean  cup  that 
destroys  their  manhood,  and  changes  them  into  brutes.     Others, 
taking  the  inspired  Oracles  as  the  "  man  of  their  counsel,"  walk  in 
wisdom's  ways,   apply  themselves  with  industry  to  their  calling, 
cionduct  their  business  with  strict  integrity  and  honor,  seek  to  accu- 
nmlate  without  nmking  haste  to  be  rich,  and  consecrate  their  gains 
with  themselves  to  the  Loid.     Now,  also,  i  ae  virtuous  young  man 
seeks  a  companion  to  share  his  joys,  and  divide  his  sorrows.     He 
drinks  waters  out  of  his  own  cistern,  and   running  waters  out  of 
his  own  well.     He  rejoices  with  tlie  wife  of  his  youth,  and  together 
they  lay  the  foimdation,  in  prayer  and  faith  at  the  family  altar,  of 
future  prosperity  and  happiness. 

"  What  ia  the  world  to  there, 
I;si  1  omp,  its  i)IeaBure,  and  its  nonsense  all. 
Who  in  c:u:h  othor  clapp  whatvvor  fail 
Tl\-ih  fa  icy  forms,  and  lavish  hearts  can  wish' 
Truth,  (goodness,  lioiKir,  harmony,  and  l)VO, 
Tho  richest  bounty  of  indulgent  Heaven." 

.Young  man,  "Tliink  of  'living.'  Thy  life,  wert  thou  tho  pitifulest 
of  all  the  sons  of  Earth,  is  no  idle  dream,  but  a  solenm  reality. 
It  is  thy  own  ;  it  is  all  thou  hast  to  front  eternity  with.  Work  then, 
even  as  he  has  done,  and  does,  'like  a  star,  unliasting,  yet  unresting.'  " 


^^^\\Mrmr-^ 


Fair  time  of  calm  resolve-  of  sober  th  ught ! 
Quiet  half-way  hostelrie  on  life's  long  road, 
In  which  to  rest  and  re-adjust  our  load  I 

•'THE   RACE  IS  NOT  TO    THE   SWIFT.    NOR   THE    BATTLE  TO 
THE  STRONG  "—Eaal.  9:  11. 

HE  sun  of  life  is  now  approaching  its  meridian.  It  is  high, 
hot  noonday.  See  Avith  what  a  large  and  brilliant  flame 
the  taper  burns.  On  the  right  is  the  astronomical  sign 
of  the  sun,  the  emblem  of  productive  strength  ;  on  the  left,  a  SAvine, 
denoting  the  low  and  groveling  uses  to  whirV  ..  ri.ir  may  put  him- 
self, when  he  indulges  in  luxurious  eating  and  drinking.  The  lyre 
of  Apollo  rests  against  a  tree,  prepared  for  hia  use,  if  he  feels 


n\ 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 

inspired  to  invoke  the  Muse.  What  a  thrilling  history  is  written 
(luring  this  period  of  man's  life !  He  is  now  fairly  launched  on  the 
broad  ocean.  What  storms  assail  him,  what  waves  rise  mountain 
high  around  him.  He  is  in  the  very  whirlpool  of  business  and 
of  politics.  The  prospect  of  wealth  lies  before  him.  Ambition 
calls  to  liim  from  lofty  hights.  His  children  are  growing  up  around 
him,  but  he  is  too  deeply  immersed  in  worldly  cares  to  think  of 
his  responsibility  to  those  whom  God  has  given  him  to  train  for 
immortality.  He  lives  for  himself,  a  sordid  creature  wrapped  in 
his  own  pleasures.  "Thousands  of  men  breathe,  move,  and  live ; 
pass  off  the  stage  of  life,  and  are  heard  of  no  more.  Why?  They 
do  not  partake  of  good  in  the  world,  and  none  were  blessed  by 
them,  none  could  point  to  them  as  the  means  of  their  redemption  ; 
not  a  line  they  wrote,  not  a  word  they  spoke,  could  be  recalled,  and 
so  they  perished."  When  a  man  assumes  his  place  in  the  active, 
busy,  money-making  world,  let  him  think  of  God  who  gives  men 
power  to  get  wealth,  and,  from  a  feeling  of  gratitude,  and  a  sense 
of  religious  obligation,  cultivate  the  grace  of  benevolence.  What 
he  gives  to  Christ  and  his  poor  he  keeps  forever ;  what  he  hoards 
he  may  lose  to-morrow.  Success  in  life  depends,  humanly  speaking, 
upon  a  man's  own  exertions ;  but  in  a  truer  sense  it  is  the  gift  of 
God,  and  may  be  perverted  to  evil  uses. 

"  111  fares  that  land,  to  hastening  Ills  a  prey, 
Where  wealth  accumulates,  and  men  decay." 

The  ruin  of  the  state  as  well  as  of  the  individual  is  sure,  when  the 
passions  of  men  are  all  absorbed  in  objects  so  mean  and  selfish  as 
the  accumulation  of  wealth  and  position,  for  the  sake  of  the  luxury 
and  sensual  gratification  they  will  afford.  "  If  the  heart  does  not 
sanctify  our  wealth,  we  may  rest  assured  that  the  wealth  we  obtain 
will  soon  corrupt  our  affections."  A  rich  man  at  forty,  without 
religion,  without  a  sanctified  hoart,  without  treasure  in  heaven,  is  in 
a  conditiou  of  moral  peril  j  for  "  no  man  can  serve  two  masters." 


\^£)^^\. 


TTe  who  hath  never  warred  with  misery, 

Nor  ever  tugsjed   with  trouble  or  distresR, 
Hath  had  no  tune,  norany  elianco  totry 
The  stronatli  and  forces  of  liis  worthiness. 

■FIGHT  THE    GOOD  FIGHT  OF  FAITH,  LAY  HOL<D  017  ETERNAL 
LIFE.  ••—!   Tim.  S  :  J 5. 

HE  mere  lapse  of  years  is  not  life.  "Tu  oat,  drink,  and 
sleep,  to  be  exposed  to  darlcness  and  the  light — to  pace 
ri)und  in  the  mill  of  habit,  and  turn  thought  into  an  im- 
plement of  trade — this  is  not  life."  Life  i.s  a  warfare,  and  cm- 
enemies  are  numerous  and  strong.  It  is  a  desperate  struggle,  in 
which  no  quarter  can  be  asked  or  granted,  but  happy  is  the  man 
who  gains  the  victory.  The  picture  before  us  now  is  complicated, 
but  every  stroke  of  the  artist  reveals  a  truth.  Behold  life's  taper 
more  than  half  gone,  yet   see  the  efforts  of  its  foes  to  extinguish  it 


If' 


ss 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


boloro  tho  time.  Tho  blast  of  dangor  bends  the  yielding  flame,  but 
cannot  put  it  out.  On  the  right  is  tho  sign  of  Mara,  tho  fierce  god 
of  war ;  on  tho  left  a  lion  coavhuHi,  the  monarch  of  the  beasts,  while 
a  huge  sword  lies  at  tlio  base  of  the  urn. 

These  symbols  teach  various  loshons.  Man  in  his  vigor  and 
prime,  is  prepared  for  danger  and  conflict.  Passion  is  still  strong 
as  in  youth,  only  "  in  niaidiood  the  great  deep  flows  on  more  calm, 
but  muro  profound ;  its  serenity  is  proof  of  tho  might  and  terror  of 
its  course,  were  the  wind  to  blow  and  the  storm  to  rise."  His 
experience  cpialifii's  him  to  detect  tho  approach  of  danger,  and  tlu? 
discipline  ho  has  acquired  enables  him  to  copo  with  his  enemies,  the 
greatest  of  which,  with  tho  exception  of  tho  Arch  Foo  of  mankind, 
is  himself.  If  he  has  not  gained  the  victory  over  himself  at  fifty, 
it  is  probable  that  ho  never  Avill.  Self-conquest  is  tho  greatest  of 
all,  antl  nuikes  other  triumphs  sure  ;  for  ho  that  ruleth  his  own 
spirit,  is  greater  than  he  that  taketh  a  city.  Tho  true  Christian, 
strong  in  the  faith,  is  a  warrior  whom  no  foe  can  conquer.  His 
shield  will  turn  every  fiery  dart,  and  the  sword  of  tho  Spirit  has  an 
edge  that  no  armor  can  resist.  And  now,  at  the  age  of  fifty,  it  is 
high  time  to  gather  some  assurances  of  victory  in  tho  good  fight  of 
faith.  Tho  meridian  of  thy  life  is  past.  The  summer  is  gone,  and 
the  autumnal  fruits  are  dropping  from  the  tree. 

"  Timo  di-ivotli  onward  fiict, 
And  in  a  little  wliilo  our  lips  are  dumb. 

What  is  it  tliiit  will  hist » 
A'\  things  are  taken  from  us,  and  become 
Portions  and  ]  arccls  of  tho  dreadful  Past. 
All  tilings  liavo  rrst,  and  ri'  en  toward  tho  gravo 
In  silence;  ripen,  fall,  and  cease." 


"  Look  not  mournfully  into  tlio  past — it  cannot  return ;  wisely 
improve  the  presant — it  is  thine;  go  forth  to  meet  the  shadowy 
future  \vithout  fear,  and  with  a  manly  heart." 


Leaves  hnvo  thetr  timo  to  fall, 

And  flowers  to  wither  i.t  the  Nor;h  wliul's  breath, 

And  Htars  to  set— hut  all, 

Thou  hast  all  Boasoni  for  thine  own,  ()  deatli ! 

•ANQ  \VK  all   OO  PA'DF.  as  a   LF.AF    ■■-:.rxi2h64  .■  6 

SOW  dimly  burns  tlio  candle  now  sinco  it  lias  felt  the  blasts 
of  life's  approaching  winter.  And  yet  tlie  envious  se -pent 
hisses  at  its  feeble  llame,  and  v.'ould  poison  the  litle  rem- 
nant of  that  life  which  at  first  was  forfeited  through  his  subtle 
malignity.  The  astronomical  sign  of  Jupiter,  the  oljjeet  of  univer- 
sal adoration  among  the  heathen,  indicates  the  duty  of  man,  as  his 
days  decline,  to  withdraw  from  the  cares  and  strife  of  the  world, 
and  give   up  his  mind  to   religious   contemplation.     And  what 


if 


S4 


A     LIFE    CTUDY 


'  M 


^■^1 


Bohimn  thoughts  now  force  thomsolvos  upon  hin  attention.  See 
how  short  tho  taper  has  bocomo.  "Yet  a  littlo  wliilo  is  the  light 
with  you."  Childhood  with  its  eiinny  liours  is  gone.  Youth  with 
its  buoyant  hopes  has  given  place  to  luanhood  with  its  grave 
realities,  and  now  old  ago  is  coming  on  apace.  Tho  animal  and 
nervous  systems  begin  to  lose  their  tone.  Tho  heart  "  tho  first  of 
man  tluit  lives,  and  tho  lust  that  dies,"  Bonds  forth  tlio  blood  with 
less  energy  through  the  channels  of  circulation,  and  debiUty  fol- 
lows. Seo,  death  is  shaking  tho  troe.  The  fruit  has  dropped  oil", 
and  now  ev(!n  tho  very  loaves  and  twigs  are  falling  under  his  rude 
shocks,  fcjoon  tho  tree  itself  will  full.  Uohold  tho  picture  of  man 
in  his  decline.  How  fow  realize  the  value  of  a  happy  old  ago. 
Not  more  than  one-fourth  of  those  born  into  tho  Avorld  over  rtnich 
it,  but  all  who  are  spared  to  maturity  should  so  regulate  their  lives 
as  not  to  form  disagreeable  habits  which  in  ago  will  make  them 
miserable  slaves.  A  holy  life  will  ensure  a  peaceful  death,  and 
God  will  never  forsake  his  aged  saints.  They  shall  still  bring  forth 
fruit.     The  almond  tree  shall  flourish  in  lioly  beauty. 

"  IIow  puri! 
The  grace,  tho  gontleiinHS  of  virtuous  ngc." 

The  aged  Christian,  *'  a  store-house  of  experience,"  stands  ready 
to  impart  his  rich  treasures.  Happy  are  thoy  who  have  the  privi- 
lege and  the  disposition  to  learn  from  such  a  teacher. 

"  Life  Is  not  measured  hy  the  time -we  Hvc, 
'Tls  not  nil  even  course  of  throe  score  yenr«." 

Wliat  have  we  done  for  God,  for  man,  for  ourselves,  in  treasturefi 
laid  up  in  heaven  ? 

"  Our  wasted  tapernow  has  hrought  her  light 

To  tho  next  door  to-night  •, 
Her  sprlgh!lo8s  flame,  grown  great  with  snuff,  doth  turn 

Bad  as  her  neighboring  nrn  ; 
Her  slender  inch  that  yet  unspent  remains, 

Lights  but  to  further  pains ; 
And  in  a  silent  language,  bids  her  gticst 
rri'])are  her  weary  limbs  to  talcu  eternal  rest." 


"Niglittappeth  gontly  ntn  cnscmont  gleaming 

Wi  th  the  thin  fireliglit,  nickorlri'^  fuint  nivl  low; 

By  which  a  gray-hair'd  man  ia  niouiiifiil  Orcaming 
O'er  pIunHiircH  gone  — a»  all  life's  plonsurt's  go ; 

Ni^lit  call8  liim  to  lior— and  ho  Icavrs  his  duor, 

Bilontand  daik,  and  ho  rtturns  no  more." 

•'THE  DAYS  OF   OUJi    YEARS  ARE  THREE   SCORE    YEARJ    Am    T"N  ' 

PaalmOO:  10. 

jjT  last  the  end  is  come.     "  And  ho  died,"  is  -wi-itten  of  anto- 
dihivians  whose   age   reached  nearly  a  thousand  years. 
"Death  hath  passed  upon  all  men."     Behold  the  taper 
light  in  its  last  struggle  for  existence. 

"That  blazing  taper,  that  disdained  the  puff 
Of  troubled  air,  scarce  owns  the  name  of  Fi.uff.' 

A  bird  is  bringing  fuel  to  food  the  expiring  flame,  wliilo  opposite 
we  see  the  sign  of  Saturn,  generally  represented  as  an  old  man  bent 
with  age  and  infirmity,  holding  a  scythe  in  his  right  hand,  with  a 


X  in' 


MX 


I''-! 


so 


A     LIFE    CTUDY. 


i  ''.a 


';:  ,. 


.Morpont  that  bitos  its  own  tail,  an  oinhlom  of  timo,  and  of  tho  re- 
vulviuj^  your.  Tho  tsiin  is  Kinkiiij^  bohiiul  tho  hills,  on  which  htaud 
thu  riiiiiu  of  nn  old  custlo.  Tho  drama  of  lii'u  is  about  to  close, 
llowsolonm  is  tho  approach  of  death.  Wo  ha\o  iiuirkod  tho  dill'er- 
enco  in  tho  fihapo  of  tho  uvn  in  tho  Buceosisivo  pictures.  Thus  man 
changes  from  ouo  period  to  another,  us  youth  decays  and  manhood 
ripons  into  tho  feero  and  yellow  louf,  and  at  last  his  great  change 
comes,  tho  dissolving  of  liis  earthly  tabernacle.  Tho  death  of  the 
body  is  not  an  event  to  bo  dreaded  by  a  child  of  God.  It  releases 
liim  from  prison  and  from  cxilo,  and  lets  him  fly  to  liis  Father's 
house.  Death  is  tho  rest  of  tho  tired  laborer  when  tho  day  is  done 
— tho  sleep  of  tho  weary  watcher,  Avhen  relieved  from  exhausting 
duty — tho  harbor  of  tho  b  orm-tossed  nuiriner,  tho  homo  of  tho  long 
absent  traveler — the  final  strugglo  in  tho  great  warfare  of  victorious 
life.  "The  sting  of  death  is  ein."  But  for  this,  death  would 
have  no  terrors.  Thanks  bo  unto  God  fur  tho  cross  of  tho  Iledeomer. 
By  bis  death  he  hath  delivered  those  who  through  feur  of  death 
were  all  their  lifetime  subject  to  bondage.  Tho  Captain  of  our  sal- 
vation has  conquered  the  last  enemy,  r.id  leads  his  followers 
triumphantly  through  tho  dark  dominions  of  their  vanquished  foe, 
while  they  sing,  *'  O  grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ?" 

"Sure  tho  JuKtend 
•  Oftlio  good  mnn  Is  peace.    How  calm  his  exit  I 

Niglit  duws  full  not  moru  calmly  on  tlio  ground, 
Nor  weary,  worn-out  winds  expire  ho  soft." 

We  have  viewed  human  life  as  a  candle  lighted  by  a  divine  torch. 
We  have  seen  it  burn  down  to  its  socket  and  expire.  Is  this  the 
end  ?  If  a  man  die  shall  h''  live  again  ?  Is  there  no  hand  that 
can  the  expired  light  relume  ?  Ah,  yes,  the  spark  of  inmiortality 
may  seem  to  slumber  in  tho  ashes  of  the  grave,  but  it  will  burst 
forth  again  in  the  glorious  resurrection  morning,  and  burn  with 
eternal  splendor ;  for  "then  shall  the  righteous  shine  forth  as  the 
sun  in  the  kingdom  of  their  Father." 


BUNYAM. 
Ilisntur  A  I'viuMin. 
|T  woro  impossiblo  to  gii/o  ti^iun  tho  ryramuls,  thoho  vast 
HopulfhrcH,  wliich  rise,  from  the  Libyan  dL'«ert,wilIu)ut 
Bolonm  fot'liiif^.  They  exist,  but  ■\vhcro  aro  tlifir  buildt'rs  V 
In  thoir  nili-nt  liojirt  thoro  is  a  eopulclire  villi  a  liaiuU'ul  of  dust  in 
it,  and  that  is  all  thatrouiaiua  to  us  of  a  proud  riue  of  kings. 

Historios  are  tho  pyramids  of  iiationa.  They  entomb  in  oldon 
chrouiclo,  or  in  dim  tradition,  pcoph-s  vhich  onco  fired  tho  world 
with  thoir  fame,  men  who  stamped  tho  form  and  prossuro  of  their 
character  upon  tho  livea  of  thousands. 

TlIU   MYTUieAI.   AND   THK   UkAL. 

But  although  tho  earlier  times  aro  wrapt  in  a  cloud  of  fidilo ; 
though  tradition,  itself  a  myth,  gropes  into  mythic  darkness; 
though  iEneas  and  Agamemnon  aro  creations  rather  than  men, 
made  human  by  the  poet's  "vision  and  faculty  divine  ;''  though 
forgetfulness  has  overtaken  netual  heroes,  once  "  content  in  arms 
to  cope,  each  with  bis  fronting  foo;"  it  is  interesting  to  observe  how 
rapid  was  tho  transition  from  fablo  to  evidence,  from  tho  uncertain 
twilight  to  tho  liistorio  day.  It  was  necessary  that  it  should  be  bo. 
"The  fullr.oss  of  times,"  demanded  it.  There  was  an  ever-acting 
Divinity  caring,  through  all  change,  for  the  sure  wiu'king  of  his  own 
purpose.  Tho  legendary  must  bo  superseded  by  tho  real ;  tradition 
must  givo  placo  to  history,  before  the  advent  of  tho  Blessed  One. 
The  cross  must  bo  roared  on  tho  loftiest  platform,  in  the  midst  of 
the  ages,  and  in  tho  most  inciuisitivo  condition  of  tho  human  iidnd. 
Tho  deluge  is  an  awful  monument  of  God's  disploasui'o  against  sin, 
but  it  happened  before  there  was  history,  save  in  tho  Bible,  and 
hence  there  are  those  who  gainsay  it.  Tho  fall  has  impressed  its 
desolations  upon  the  universal  hc^art,  but  there  are  scoffers  who 
"contradict  it  against  themselves."  But  the  atonement  has  been 
worked  out  with  grandest  publicity.     Thero   hangs  over  the  cross 


i 


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A    LIFE    STUDY. 


Eh 


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1  i  ^  I  l' 


•■  :i^l;' 


the  largest  cloud  of  witnesses.  Swarthy  Cyreiiiau,  and  proud  son 
of  Rome,  lettered  Greek  and  jealous  Jew,  join  hands  around  the 
sacrifice  of  Christ — its  body-guard  as  an  historical  fact — fencing  it 
about  with  most  solemn  authentications,  and  handing  it  to  after 
ages,  a  truth,  as  well  as  a  life,  for  all  time.  In  like  manner  wo 
find  that  certain  periods  of  the  world — epoclis  in  its  social  pro- 
gress— times  of  its  emerging  from  chivalrio  barbarism — times  of 
reconstruction  or  of  revolution — times  of  groat  energy  or  of  nas- 
cent life,  seem,  as  by  Divine  arrangement,  to  stand  forth  in  sharpest 
outline ;  long  distinguishable  after  the  records  of  other  times  have 
faded.  Such,  besides  the  first  age  of  Christianity,  was  the  period 
of  the  Crusades,  of  the  Reformation,  of  the  Puritans. 

Times  of  Bunyax. 
How  much  was  crowded  into  the  sixty  years  of  Bunyau's 
eventful  life !  There  were  embraced  in  it  the  turbulent  reign  of 
the  first  Charles,  the  Star-chamber,  and  the  High  Commission, 
names  of  hate  and  shuddering ;  Laud  with  his  Papistry,  and  Straf- 
ford with  his  scheme  of  Thorough ;  the  long  intestine  war ;  Edge- 
hill,  and  Naseby,  and  Marston,  memories  of  sorrowful  renown ; 
a  discrowned  monarch,  a  royal  trial,  and  a  royal  execution.  He 
saw  all  that  was  venerable  and  all  that  was  novel  changing  places, 
hke  the  scene-shifting  of  a  drama;  bluff  cavaliers  in  seclusion  and 
in  exile;  douce  burghers  acting  history,  and  molded  into  men. 
Then  followed  the  Protectorate  of  the  many-sided  and  wondrous 
Cromwell ;  brief  years  of  grandeur  and  of  progress,  during  which 
an  Englishman  became  a  power  and  a  name.  Then  came  the  Res- 
toration, with  its  reaction  of  excesses ;  the  absolution  of  courtiers 
and  courtezans ;  the  madness  which  seized  upon  the  nation  when 
vampires  like  Gates  and  Dangerfield  were  gorged  with  perjury  and 
drunk  wi^'h  blood ;  the  Act  of  Uniformity,  framed  in  true  succession, 
to  take  effect  on  St.  Bartholomew's  day,  by  which  "atone  fell 
swoop,"   wore    ejected    two    thousand  ministers  of  Christ's  holy 


A    LIU'S    STUDY. 


Gospel ;  the  Conventicle  Act,  two  years  later,  which  hounded  the 
ejected  ones  from  the  copse  and  from  the  glen.  Then  followed  the 
death  of  the  dissolute  king ;  the  accession  of  James,  v.i  once  a  dis- 
sembler and  a  bigot ;  the  renewal  of  the  struggle  botweon  prerog- 
ative and  freedom ;  the  wUd  conspiracy  of  Monmouth ;  the  military 
cruelties  of  Kirke  and  Claverhouse,  the  butchers  of  the  army ;  and 
the  judicial  cruelties  of  Jeffreys;  the  martyrdoms  of  Elizabeth 
Gaunt,  and  the  gentle  Alice  Lisle  ;  the  gloriou^  acquittal  of  the 
seven  bishops ;  the  final  eclipse  of  the  house  of  Stuart,  that  per- 
fidious race,  and  England's  last  revolution. 

And  the  men  were  there ;  the  wit,  the  poet,  the  divine,  the 
hero,  as  if  genius  had  brought  out  her  jewels,  and  furnished  them 
nobly  for  a  nation's  need.  Then  Pym  and  Hampden  bearded 
tyranny,  and  Russell  and  Sydney  dreamed  of  freedom.  Then 
Blake  secured  the  empire  of  ocean,  and  the  chivalric  Falkland 
fought  and  fell.  In  those  stirring  times  arose  Charnock,  aiid 
Owen,  and  Howe,  and  Baxter,  Cudworth,  Henry,  South,  Pri- 
deaux,  Whitby,  Sherlock,  Tillotson,  Stillingfleet,  Boveridge,  and 
Milton — men  who  could  set  forth  the  majesty  and  beauty  of  Chris- 
tianity with  such  justness  of  thought  and  such  energy  of  language, 
that  the  indolent  Charles  roused  himself  to  listen,  and  the  fastidious 
Buckingham  forgot  to  sneer. 

In  such  an  era,  and  with  such  men  for  his  eotemporaries, 
John  Bunyan  ran  his  course,  "a  burning  and  a  shining  light," 
kindled  in  a  dark  place,  for  the  praise  and  glory  of  God. 

Eaklt    Life. 

He  was  bom  at  Elstow,  a  village  near  Bedford,  in  the  year 
1628.  Like  many  others  of  the  Lord's  heroes,  he  was  of  obscure 
parentage.  His  youth  was  spent  in  excess  of  riot.  At  twenty  he 
married,  receiving  two  books  as  his  wife's  only  portion :  "  The 
Pract'co  of  Piety,"  and  "  The  Plain  Man's  Pathway  to  Heaven." 


in 


''  ^\^ 


Si  i 


'•fi.. 


mi 


4   LIFE    STUDY. 


i  i'i 


Conversion. 
By  the  reading  of  these  books,  and  by  his  -wife's  converse  and 
example,  the  Holy  Spirit  first  wrought  upon  his  soul.  He  attemjjted 
to  curb  his  sinful  propensities,  and  to  work  in  himself  an  external 
reformation.  Ho  formed  a  habit  of  church-going,  and  an  attach- 
ment almost  idolatrous  to  the  externalisms  of  religion.  The  priest 
was  to  him  as  the  Brahman  to  the  Pariah ;  he  could  have  lain, 
down  at  Ins  feet  to  be  trampled  on.  While  thus  under  the  thral- 
dom which  superstition  imposes,  he  indulged  all  the  license  which 
superstition  claims.  He  continued  a  blasphemer  and  a  Sabbath- 
breaker,  running  to  the  same  excess  of  riot  as  before.  Then 
followed  in  agonizing  vicissitude  a  series  of  convictions  and  relapses. 
He  was  arrested,  now  by  the  pungency  of  a  powerful  sermon,  now 
by  the  reproof  of  an  abandoned  woman,  and  anon  by  visions  in 
the  night  distinct  and  terrible.  One  by  one,  under  the  lashes  of 
the  law,  he  relinquished  his  besetting  sins  :  swearing.  Sabbath- 
breaking  ;  frt)m  all  these  ho  struggled  sucessfiilly  to  free  himself, 
with  his  heart  alienated  fiom  the  life  of  God.  New  and  brighter 
light  flashed  upon  his  spirit  from  the  conversation  of  some  godly 
women  at  Bedford,  who  spoke  of  the  things  of  God  and  of  kindred 
hopes  and  yearnings.  He  was  instructed  more  pei'fectly  by  "holy 
Mr.  Gifford,"  the  Evangelist  of  his  dream;  and  in  "the  Comment 
on  the  Galatians,"  of  brave  old  Martin  Luther,  he  found  the  pho- 
tograph of  his  own  sinning  and  troubled  soul.  Temptations  of 
dark  and  fearful  power  assailed  and  possessed  his  soul.  Then  was 
the  time  of  that  fell  combat  with  ApoUyon,  of  the  fiery  darts  and 
hideous  yells,  of  the  lost  sword  and  the  rejoicing  enemy.  Then 
also  he  passed,  distracted  and  trembling,  through  the  Valley  of  the 
Shadow  of  Death,  and  a  horror  of  great  darkness  fell  upon  him. 
At  length,  by  the  blessed  vision  of  Christ,  the  glad  deliverance 
came ;  the  clouds  rolled  away  from  liis  heart  and  from  his  destiny ; 
from  this  time  his  spiritual  course  was  for  the  most  part  one  of 
comfort  and  peace. 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


Ministry,  and  in  Peison. 

Bunyan  became  a  member  of  the  Baptist  Church  under  Mr. 
Gifford,  and  when  that  faithful  witness  ceased  his  earthly  testimony, 
he  engaged  in  earnest  exhortations  to  sinners,  and  was  shortly 
urged  by  the  Spirit  to  the  actual  ministry  of  the  Gospel.  His  min- 
istry was  heartfelt,  and  powerful,  and  greatly  blessed  of  God. 
In  IGGO  he  was  indicted  **  as  a  common  upholder  of  unlawful 
meetings  and  conventicles,"  and  by  the  strong  hand  of  tyranny  was 
thrown  into  prison ;  and  though  his  wife  pleaded  so  powerfully  in 
his  favor  as  to  move  the  pity  of  Sir  Matthew  Hale,  beneath  whoso 
ermine  throbbed  a  God-fearing  heart  hke  that  which  boat  beneath 
the  tinker's  doublet,  he  was  kept  there  for  twelve  long  years. 
There,  in  the  day-time,  is  the  heroine-wife,  at  once  bracing  and 
soothing  his  spirit  with  her  leal  and  womanly  tenderness,  and, 
sitting  at  his  feet,  the  child — a  clasping  tendril — blind,  and  therefore 
best-beloved.  There,  on  the  table,  is  the  "Book  of  Martyrs," 
with  its  records  of  the  men  who  were  the  ancestors  of  his  faith 
and  love.  There,  nearer  to  his  hand,  is  the  Bible,  revealing  that 
secret  source  of  strength  w^hich  empowered  each  manly  heart. 
Within  him  the  good  conscience  bears  him  bravely  up. 

And  now  it  is  nightfall.  The  blind  child  receives  the  fatherly 
benediction.  The  last  good  night  is  said  to  the  dear  ones,  and 
Bunyan  is  alone.  His  pen  is  in  his  hand,  and  his  Bible  on  the 
table.  There  is  fire  in  his  eye,  and  there  is  passion  in  his  soul. 
There  is  beating  over  him  a  storm  of  inspiration.  Great  thoughts 
are  striking  on  his  brain.  Cloudy  and  shapeless  in  their  earliest 
rise  within  his  iiiind,  they  darken  into  the  gigantic,  or  brighten 
into  the  beautiful,  until  at  length  he  flings  them  into  bold  and 
burning  words.  He  is  in  tlie  palace  Beautiful,  with  its  sights  of 
renown  and  songs  of  melody,  and  with  its  windows  opening  for 
the  first  kiss  of  the  sun.  Chainless  and  swift,  he  has  soared  to  the 
Delectable  Mountains ;  the  light  of  heaven  is  around  him. 

5 


ill 


w 


A     LIFE    STUDY. 


ml 


i  m 


-m 


As  A  Wkitku. 

As  a  contributor  to  theological  literature  he  is  a  worthy  asso- 
ciate of  the  brightest  Puritan  divines.  His  terse,  epigrammatic 
aphorisms,  his  array  of  "picked  and  packed  words,"  the  clearness 
with  which  ho  enunciates,  and  the  power  with  which  he  applies 
the  truth,  his  intense  and  burning  earnestness,  the  warm  soul  that 
ia  seen  beating  in  benevolent  heart-throbs,  through  the  transparent 
page,  his  vivacious  humor,  flashing  out  from  the  main  body  of  his 
argument,  like  lightning  from  a  summer  sky,  his  deep  spirituality, 
chastening  au  imagination  ;  all  these  combine  to  claim  for  him  a 
high  place  among  that  band  of  masculine  thinkers,  who  were  the 
glory  of  tho  Commonwealth,  and  whose  words,  weighty  in  their 
original  utterance,  are  sounds  which  echo  still.  No  man  since  the 
days  of  the  Apostles  has  done  more  to  draw  the  attention  of  the 
world  to  the  matters  of  supremest  value,  nor  painted  the  beauty  of 
holiness  in  more  alluring  colors,  nor  spoken  to  the  universal  heart 
in  tenderer  sympathy,  or  with  more  thrilling  tone.  In  how  many 
readers  of  the  truthful  "  Grace  Abounding,"  has  there  been  the 
answer  of  the  heart  to  the  history.  "  The  Jerusalem  Sinner  Saved," 
has  been  as  "yonder  shining  light,"  which  has  led  through  the 
wicket  gate,  to  the  blessed  spot  "  where  was  a  cross  with  a  sepulchre 
hard  by,"  and  at  the  sight  of  that  cross  the  burden  has  fallen  off, 
and  the  roll  has  been  secured,  and  jubilant,  and  sealed,  and  shining, 
they  have  gone  on  to  victory  and  heaven. 

The  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  seizes  us  in  childhood  with  the 
strong  hand  of  its  power,  our  manhood  surrenders  to  the  spell,  and 
its  grasp  upon  us  relaxes  not  when  "  mingles  the  brown  of  life 
with  sober  gray ;"  nay,  is  often  strongest  amid  tho  weariness  of 
waning  years.  There  never  was  a  poem  which  so  thoroughly  took 
possession  of  our  hearts,  and  hurried  them  along  upon  the  stream 
of  the  story.  We  have  an  identity  of  interest  with  the  hero  in  all 
his  doubts  and  dangers.     We  start  with  him  on  pilgrimage ;  we 

6 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


m^ 


speed  with  him  to  the  Gate ;  we  climb  the  difficult  hill ;  wo  gird 
ourselves  for  the  combat  with  ApoUyon ;  it  curdles  at  the  heart 
again,  amid  the  "  hydras  and  chimeras  dire,"  of  the  Valley  of  the 
Shadow  of  Depth;  we  look  with  him  upon  the  scoffing  multitude 
from  the  cage  of  the  town  of  Vanity ;  we  now  lie,  listless  and  sad, 
and  now  flee,  fleet  and  happy,  from  the  cell  in'  Doubting  Castle, 
and  pass  through  every  scene  ghastly  or  joyful  till  we  walk  with 
him  amid  the  pleasantness  of  Beulah;  we  ford  the  river  in  his  com- 
pany; we  hear  the  joy-bells  ringing  in  the  city  of  habitations; 
we  greet  the  angels ;  and  it  is  to  us  as  the  gasp  of  agony  when 
we  wake,  and,  behold,  it  is  a  dream.  The  "Pilgrim's  Pro- 
gress," was  written  without  thought  of  others.  One  of  the 
most  conclusive  proofs  of  the  popularity  of  this  wonderful  allegory, 
is  to  be  found  in  the  versions  into  which  it  has  been  rendered,  and 
in  the  imitations  to  which  it  has  given  rise ;  there  are  forty  treatises, 
mostly  allegorical,  whose  authors  have  evidently  gathered  their 
inspiration  from  Bunyan.  It  has  been  done  into  an  oratorio  for 
play -goers;  done  into  verse  for  rhymsters;  done  into  elegant 
English  for  drawing  rooms ;  done  into  catechisms  for  the  use  of 
schools.  It  has  been  quoted  in  novels  ;  quoted  in  sermons ;  quoted 
in  Parliament  and  Congress ;  quoted  in  plays ;  mutilated  or 
stretched,  as  it  exceeded  or  fell  short  of  their  standard. 

There  has  been  a  Popish  edition,  with  Giant  Pope  left 
out  There  has  been  a  Socinian  parody,  describing  tjie  triumph- 
ant voyage,  through  hell  to  heaven,  of  a  Captain  Single-eye  and 
his  Unitarian  crew ;  and  last,  not  least  note-worthy,  there  has  been 
a  Tractarian  travesty,  in  which  the  editor  digs  a  cleansing  well  at 
the  wicket-gate,  omits  Mr.  Worldly  Wiseman,  ignores  the  town  of 
Legality,  makes  no  mention  of  Mount  Sinai,  changes  the  situation 
of  the  cross,  gives  to  poor  Christian  a  double  burden,  transforms 
Giant  Pope  into  Giant  Mohammedan,  Mr.  Superstition  into  Mr. 
Self-indulgence,  and   alters,   with  careful  coquetry  toward  Rome, 

every  expression  which  might  be  distasteful  to  the  Holy  Mother. 

7 


f  MP 


■||V 


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si 


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4 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


PiT,anTM'.s  rnoGnras  amono  oinTin  Natioxs. 

No  book  but  God's  own  has  been  so  honored  to  lift  up  the  cross 
among  the  far-oflf  nations  of  mankind.  The  Italian  has  read  it 
under  the  shadow  of  the  Vatican,  and  the  modern  Greek  amid  the 
ruins  of  Athens.  It  has  blessed  the  Armenian  trafficer,  and  it  has 
calmed  the  fierce  Malay  ;  it  has  been  carried  up  the  far  rivers  of 
Burmah  ;  and  it  liaa  drawn  tears  from  dark  eyes  in  the  cinnamon 
gardens  of  Ceylon.  It  has  been  as  the  Elim  of  palms  and 
fountains  to  the  Arab  wayfarer  ;  it  has  nerved  the  Malagasy  for  a 
Faithful's  martyrdom,  or  for  trial  of  cruel  mockings,  and  tortures 
more  intolerable  than  death.  The  Hindoo  has  yielded  to  its  spell 
by  Gunga's  sacred  stream;  and,  crowning  triumph!  Hebrews 
have  read  it  on  the  slopes  of  Olivet,  or  on  the  banks  of  Kedron, 
and  the  tender-hearted  daughters  of  Salem,  descendants  of  those 
who  Avept  for  the  sufferings  of  Jesus,  have  "  wept  over  it,"  "  for 
themselves  and  for  their  children." 

An  Earnest  Bible    Student. 

There  is  no  feature  more  noticeable  in  Bunyan's  cliaracter, 
than  the  devout  earnestness  with  which  he  studied  the  Divine 
Word ;  when  a  restless  Avanderer  after  rest,  the  Bible  was  precious 
to  him,  and  after  his  deliverance,  it  Avas  his  congenial  life-work  to 
exalt  its  honor,  and  to  proclaim  its  truths. 

As   A  Preachek. 

Bunyan  had  a  high  reputation.  Sympathy,  earnestness,  and 
power,  Avere  the  great  characteristics  of  his  ministry.  He  preached 
what  he  felt.  At  first,  himself  in  chains,  he  thundered  out  the 
terrors  of  the  law  ;  then  happy  in  behoving,  he  proclaimed  sal- 
vation, and  the  unparalleled  blessedness  of  life  by  Christ.  Instances 
of  conversion  were  frequent — many  churches  were  founded  by  his 
labors.  Dr.  Owen  assured  King  Charles  that  for  Bunyan's  ability 
he  would  gladly  barter  his  own  stores  of  learning  ;  and  m  his  visit 
to  London,   twelve  hundred  people  would  gather  at  seven  in  the 

morning  of  a  winter's  working  day,  to  hear  him. 

8 


1'*;;: 


jIEW  things  are  pleasanter  and  more  profitablo  than  tho 
study  of  John  Bunyan's  minor  allegories.  lie  had  a 
great  deal  of  natural  humour,  and  a  child's  simplicity 
and  frankness  in  the  indulgence  of  it,  with  a  keen  but  good 
natured  and  benevolent  satire,  and  a  child's  fondness  for  surprises, 
puzzles,  and  plays.  Sometimes,  beginning  a  by-lauo  of  thought 
and  fancy,  to  please  himself  in  giving  way  to  his  passion  for  tracing 
similitudes,  lie  discovered  that  some  useful  lesson  might  be  drawn 
out  for  others,  by  putting  his  ideas  into  serviceable  shape,  sometimes 
for  grown  people,  sometimes  for  little  children  ;  but  as  it  often 
happens,  the  things  intended  for  children  prove  sweetly  attractive 
to  older  persons,  leading  them  insensibly  back  to  the  simplicity 
and  wonder  of  a  child's  heart,  and  making  them  realize  the  opening 


r  il 


17 


V 


M 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 

lines  of  Henry  Vaughn's  Eetreate,  a  poem  written  while  Bun- 
yan  was  passing  through  the  processes  of  the  furnace  and  the 
prison,  to  prepare  lum  for  writing  the  Pilgrim's  Progress. 

Happy  thoBO  early  days  ■when  I, 

Shincd  in  my  angul  infancy  I 

Before  I  understood  thlH  place 

Appointed  for  my  Hccond  race, 

Or  taught  my  soul  to  fancy  nught. 

But  a  white  celestial  thought; 

While  yet  I  had  not  walked  above 

A  mile  or  two  from  my  first  love, 

Aud  looking  hack  at  that  fhort  space, 

Could  sec  a  glimpse  of  his  bright  luce, 

"When  on  some  gilded  cloud  or  flower,  ' 

My  gazing  soul  would  dwell  an  hour. 

And  in  those  weakei  glories  spy. 

Some  shadows  of  Eternity. 

Bunyan's  childhood  was  not  so  happy  in  external  circumstances 
and  associations,  that  he  could  look  back  upon  it  as  an  angel-infancy, 
but  he  remembered  the  time  when  he  was  comparatively  innocent, 
and  afterward,  when  he  had  contracted  the  habit  of  profane 
swearing,  and  it  clung  to  him  as  a  collar  of  steel,  he  used  to 
exclaim,  "  Oh  !  that  I  could  be  a  child  agpin,  that  I  might  grow  up 
without  that  dreadful  habit  of  swearing !"  So,  in  Henry  Vaughn's 
story — 

Happy  those  early  days  of  anp;-i-infancy, 

Before  I  taught  my  tongue  to  wound 

My  conscience  with  a  sinful  sound, 

Or  had  the  black  art  to  dispense 

A  several  sin  to  every  sense, 

But  felt  through  all  this  fleshly  dress. 

Bright  shoots  of  everlastingness. 


Those  were  "  white  celestial  thoughts,"  that  like  angels  drew 
Bunyan  "with  their  loveliness,  while  he  was  reviewing  some  of  the 


ii 


■4   LIFE    S'lUDY.  7 

passages  of  his  lifo  to  make  a  record  of  God's  dealings  with  him; 
drew  him  on  insensibly  into  the  sweet  windings  of  the  Pilgrimage 
by  the  River  of  Lifo.  And  those  wore  '*  white  celestial  thoughts," 
that  Uke  the  Shining  Ones  at  the  Cross,  apparelled  Banyan's  genius, 
when  he  traced  minor  analogies  between  nature  and  the  Scriptures, 
and  drew  lessons  from  trees  and  stones,  and  bits  of  landscape, 
from  birds  and  blossoms,  from  spiders,  toads,  and  moles,  flies  and 
candle-snuffs.  IIo  apologized  for  the  rudeness  and  commonness  of 
his  thonios,  and  his  nmnner  of  treating  them.  Tho  graver  and 
more  composed  of  his  readers,  he  said  ho  would  bo  catchingwith 
bettor  tilings  than  toys,  but  meanwhile  he  would  fill  up  somo 
snat(;hcs  of  time,  by  thus  catching  girls  and  boys.  This  was  tho 
object  of  the  littlo  book  ontitk'd ''Divine  Emblems,  or  Temporal 
Things  Spiritualizcid."  He  regai'ded  these  as  the  shavings  of  his 
shop,  or  as  tho  Avhistles  that  a  cunning  workman  might  turn  off  for 
a  group  of  children  at  intervals,  while  resting  from  a  great  and 
steady  work  in  hand. 

Paul  himself  seemed  to  play  the  fool  that  ho  might  gain  those 
that  were  fools  indeed,  in  acting  out  the  madness  of  losing  their 
souls  by  sin  and  thoughtless  vanity.  He  would  become  all 
things  to  all  men,  if  by  any  means  he  might  save  somo.  So  would 
Bunyan  imitate  his  example,  in  a  generation  of  tho  world  fit  to  be 
covered  with  one  great  fool's-cap,  or  kept  in  ward  in  Bedlam.  Ho 
seemed  to  see  nothing  but  grown  people  with  childish  follies,  no 
wisdom,  nor  worth,  nor  any  immortal  lesson  gained  or  learned, 
nothing  of  the  experience  of  age  but  beards  and  wrinkles,  bearded 
men  acting  like  beardless  boys,  chasing  the  frantic  fooleries  of  the 
earth.  And  while  great  and  wise  ministers,  with  word  and  pen, 
were  shooting  thunders  at  them  as  wide  of  the  mark,  or  as  far 
above  it,  as  if  one  should  point  a  columbiad  to  shoot  a  butterfly, 
or  a  humming  bird,  or  a  musquito,  he  would  entico  them  by  their 


1 


,     5 


./  i; 


1:1 


1 


'^\ 


A     LIFE    STUDY 


playthings,  to  raise  their  thoughts  to  heaven,  he  would  go  upon 
his  hands  and  knees  : 

Mikkliig  cxperimeiit 
Of  xmalloBt  tliliii;H  groat  mlBchicf  lo  |  rovunt. 
To  nlioot  too  lil^li  (loth  mukn  but  children  kiizc, 
'Tig  that  which  hits  thu  roan,  doth  him  ninuzc 

Banyan's  aim  was  to  hit  men's  consciences  ;  and  if  thoy  shunned 
and  despised  a  saint,  ho  would  play  the  worldling ;  nay  more — 

Wliorcforo,  dear  ruador,  Hint  I  nave  ihcm  ni:iy, 
I  now  with  them  ll\i!  very  devil  play. 

and  since  they  despise  gravity,  thinking  it  nothing  but  moroseness 
or  hypocrisy,  ho  would  cast  his  own  beard  behind  a  bush,  put  on  a 
^\■ag's  mask,  and  like  a  fool,  play  with  their  toys  to  gain  their  atten- 
tion. 

The  rhymes  are  rude,  but  the  language  is  pure,  the  emblems 
are  suggestive,  and  tho  thoughts  sacred,  instructive,  sanctifying. 
There  are  snatches  of  feeling  and  melody  here  and  there,  both  in 
Bunyan's  prose  and  poetry,  worthy  the  genius  of  Shakspearo. 
Bunyan  never  referred  to  Shakspeare,  nor  indeed  to  Spenser,  in' 
any  of  his  writings,  and  for  many  years  knew  nothing  of  literature 
either  profane  or  sacred,  but  his  Bible  and  tho  Concordance,  together 
with  Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs,  and  the  Plain  Man's  Pathway  to 
Heaven,  and  The  Practice  of  Piety.  But,  at  a  later  period  of 
his  life,  it  is  curious  and  interesting  to  find  hhn  quoting  one  of  the 
devout  poets  of  his  age,  George  Herbert,  just  as  a  religious  writer 
of  this  day  might  quote  Cowper.  He  brings  the  opening  of  Her- 
bert's Temple,  the  very  first  stanza  in  "  The  Church  Porch,"  to 
justify  his  own  poetical  playing  with  Emblems. 

"If  what  tho  learned  Ilerber.  Bays  IioMh  true, 
A  verse  may  find  him  who  a  sermon  fliefl, 
And  turn  delight  into  a  sacrifice." 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


Hearken  then  to  a  .versifier  who  would  nmko  ti  bait  of  plnasiiro, 
and  niuy  rhynio  thee  to  good.  If  luon  of  genius  and  leisure 
would  givo  thenisolves  to  a  like  task,  it  would  bo  delightful  and 
profitable  to  themselves  and  to  others.  So  Bunyan  arguos,  and 
introduces  his  pootioal  fancies  with  great  humility.  They  wore 
composed,  ho  says,  only  for  diversion's  sake,  and  y»'t,  lioping  some 
soul  may  reap  benefit  thereby,  ho  ventures  to  publish  them,  bi'ing  ^ 
himself  neither  poet  nor  poet's  son ;  but  only  a  mechanic,  led  by  no 
rule  or  knowledge,  but  what  was  gained  in  his  minority  in  a  gram- 
mar school. 

Bunyan  might  have  been  acquainted  with  the  poetry  t)f  Wither 
and  Qunrles,  as  well  as  with  that  of  Herbert,  lie  may  have  seen 
Wither'a  "  Collection  of  Emblems,  Ancient  and  Modern,  tinctured 
with  Metrical  Illustrations,"  just  published  in  1(585.  Wither 
wrote  in  prison,  as  well  as  Bunyan,  and  was  afterward  ono  of  Crom- 
well's army  officers,  about  tho  same  timo  Avhcn  Bunyan  was  a  pri- 
vate soldier,  in  the  Parliamentary  Army,  at  the  siogo  of  Ijcicester- 
Bunyan  may  have  met  the  Poet  under  arms.  But  wliether  ho 
knew  him  and  Quarles,  or  not,  or  Herbert,  or  neither,  there  was  in 
all  a  sympathy  and  magnetism  of  tho  same  genius,  awakened  in 
Bunyan-  almost  exclusively  by  the  Work  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  with 
the  Divino  Word  in  his  heart,  but  turning  every  incident  and 
object  of  life  and  nature,  into  lessons  of  thoughtfulness  and  beauty. 
Bunyan's  Prison  Meditations  and  Wither's  Address  to  his  muse  in 
prison  may  be  compared,  that  one  may  note  tho  superiority  of  piety 
and  genius  above  all  circumstance,  and  how  "  stono  walls  do  not  a 
prison  make  nor  iron  ba^-^  a  cage." 

"Slio  doth  tell  iim  where  to  borrow 

Comf  jrt  in  tho  miJBt  of  sorrow  ; 

M:ikog  tho  desoliUcst  place, 

To  her  presenco  bo  a  grace ; 
And  the  blackout  discontents 
Be  her  fairest  ornaments, 
In  my  former  days  of  bliss, 


■^-,n 


i"^:' -:■•:. 


30 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


n^ 


Tier  (llvlnn  nkllt  tnught  mc  thin, 
Thnt  from  ovury  thlnu  I  iaw, 
I  could  Homo  invention  draw  ; 
And  r.iUu  ploaiuro  to  her  hol«ht, 
Through  tho  nicancHt  object's  sight, 
By  iho  murmur  of  a  spring, 
Or  tho  luaRt  bougliV  ruRt'lIng 
By  a  daisy  whoso  leaves  spread. 
Shut  when  Titan  goes  to  bod, 
On  a  shady  bush  or  tree, 
She  could  more  Infuse  In  mo 
•  Than  all  Nature's  beauties  can. 

In  some  other  wl8<'r  man. 
By  her  help  I  uIno  now 
Make  thin  churlish  place  allow. 
Some  things  that  may  sweeten  gladness. 
In  tho  very  gall  of  sadness." 

From  these  sweet  strains  of  true  poetry,  to  the  description  of 
Bunyan's  prison  experience,  the  change  may  be  rude  in  form,  but 
it  is  grand  in  thought  and  feeling,  and  both  utterances  are  the 
carol  of  a  poet's  soul.  In  Bunyan,  the  saint  is  u-  ^rmost ;  it  is 
the  Spirit  of  God  that  kindles  his  fire,     and  giv  ngs  to   his 

genius,  and  freedom  and  joy  in  the  prison. 

"  For  though  men  keep  my  outward  man 

Within  their  bolts  and  bars, 
Yet  by  tho  faith  of  Christ  I  can 

Mi)unt  higher  than  tho  stars. 
The  prison  very  sweet  to  mo 

Iluth  been  since  I  came  here, 
And  so  would  also  hanging  be. 

If  God  would  then  appear. 
Hero  dwellsgood  conscience,  also  peace. 

Here  be  my  garments  ■white. 
Hero  though  in  bonds  I  have  release. 

From  guilt  which  else  would  bite." 

"  When  they  so  talk  of  banishment. 
Of  death  and  such  like  things, 
Then  to  me  God  sends  heart's  content, 
That  like  a  fountain  springs, 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


11 


'Tli  not  thu  baionoM  of  tlilx  iitate 

Cun  lildo  u«  from  Uod'i  fiici' ; 
Ho  frequently  butli  Noon  and  la'o 

Doth  visit  til  wltli  Kriipo. 
Ood  )>nmotlmL'H  vUitN  ptliun*  more 

That)  lordly  pnlikrcH; 
Ho  often  hiiltutli  iit  our  door, 
WliuQ  he  their  liouHe  doth  inU*," 

"The  truth  and  life,  of  heavenly  things, 

Tiirt  u))  our  liL'itrtB  on  h:i(h,' 
And  carry  an  on  eagles'  wings, 

Heyond  carnall  y.  ' 

Wo  cliongo  our  drossy  dUHt  for  gold, 

From  death  to  llfo  we  fly ; 
Wo  lot  K(>  shadows  ond  tukc  hold 

Of  Immortality." 

Know  then  true  valour  there  doth  dwell. 

Where  men  engage  for  Ood ; 
Against  the  devil,  death,  and  liell, 

And  bear  the  wicked's  rod. 
These  bo  the  men  that  Ood  doth  count, 

Of  high  und  noble  m  nd  ; 
These  bo  the  men  th  .t  do  surmount 

What  you  in  nutuie  find. 
First  thej'  do  conquer  their  own  hearts. 

All  worldly  fears,  nnd  then 
Also  tlio  devil's  flory  d^irts, 

And  persecuting  men. 
They  conquer  when  they  thus  do  fall 

They  kill  when  they  do  die, 
They  overcome  then  most  of  all 
And  get  the  victory." 

If  Wither's  lines  are  the  most  refined  and  melodious,  Bunyan's 
are  filled  with  the  grandest  thought.  The  expression  of  hi.s  feeling 
was  never  imaginary  nor  exaggerated ;  but  very  ftnv  men  then 
living,  whether  in  prison  or  out  of  it,  could  sincerely  say,  that  even 
hanging  would  be  sweet,  if  God  would  appear  in  it.  Yet  this  is 
true  christian  experience. 


I, 


1  ■•■ 


"H 
'til 


IS 


A     LIFE    STUDY. 


W 


m. 


lf!!i;i 


"  Tiiy  (shining  grao :  i  an  chcpr, 
Tlio  prisDH  ■wlicif  I  dwell; 
'Tis  Pariiditie  if  Thou  art  licro, 
If  Thou  depart,  'tis  liull." 

An  unusual  combination  of  common  sense  as  "well  as  piety,  with 
imagination  and  invention,  is  to  be  noted  in  Banyan.  The  basis 
of  all  his  intellectual  effort  was  the  Scriptnves ;  next  to  this  the 
facts  of  liis  own  experience  ;  and  then  the  working  of  them  up  by 
a  vivid  imagination,  along  with  the  invention  of  such  emblems  or 
allegories,  as  would  most  accurately  and  completely  set  them  forth. 
It  ia  marvellous  to  see  an  inventive  ivU'l  fervid  genius,  with  sucli 
a  passion  for  allegories,  holding  so  fast  to  the  letter  and  spirit  of 
the  Word  of  God. 

This  indeed  was  Bunyan's  wisdom  and  strength.  lie  held  fast 
to  the  letter,  just  because  ho  was  so  filled  with  the  Spirit.  His 
love  of  the  Bible,  and  his  ingenuity,  in  suggesting  or  discovering 
pcjssible  and  hidden  meanings,  are  seen  in  his  work  on  Solomon's 
Temple  Spiritualized,  where  in  threescore  And  ten  particulars,  ho 
shows  the  gospel  signiiicancc  and  glory  of  the  worship  of  God,  by 
the  fathers,  and  liow  God  shut  up  the  Jewish  Church  in  types 
figures,  and  similitudes,  throng',  which  it  is  our  privilege  to  look 
directly  into  the  face  of  Christ.  His  whole  genius  and  life  were 
occupied  with  illustrating  and  obeying  what  he  found  in  the  written 
word.  "  I  dare  not  presume  to  say,"  said  he,  **  that  I  know  I  have 
hit  right  in  everything,  but  this  I  can  say,  I  have  endeavoured  so 
to  do.  I  have  not  for  these  things  fished  in  other  men's  waters. 
My  Bible  and  Concordance  are  my  only  library,  in  my  writings." 


OHN  BUNYAN  opens  his  little  Book  of  Emblems,  as 
John  the  Baptist  did  his  ministry,  with  the  wood-cutter 
standing  at  the  foot  of  the  tree.  The  axe  is  laid  at  the 
root,  in  John's  ministry,  and  the  warning  is,  that  it  will  l)o  speedily 
used  to  cut  down  the  tree,  if  fruit  do  not  appear  in  season,  after 
the  warning  to  escape  the  condemnation  of  barrenness.  God  waits 
to  be  gracious ;  but  his  Spirit  will  not  always  strive,  and  there 
must  be  a  limit  to  his  long-suffering. 

The  great  question  as  to  a  living  tree  is,  first  of  all,  its  growth 
from  the  root — growth  or  no  growth ;  :iext,  fruit  or  no  fruit. 
Growth  is  a  proof  of  life  ;  fruit  the  perfection  and  object  of  life. 
The  perfection  of  a  shade  tree  is,  its  foliage ;  of  a  fruit  tree,  its 
fruit.     When  Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world,  ho  came  first  of  all 


I.'. 


f.  1    ii^ 


m !  J 


ml 


I 


:li; 


li 


jfl.    LIFE    STUDY. 


i 


: 


unto  his  own  nation — seeking  fruit  of  the  Jew  first,  and  also  of  the 
Gentile.  Then  was  the  axe  laid  at  the  root  of  all  the  trees.  Then 
did  the  goodness  of  God  invite  all  men  to  repentance  ;  that,  believ- 
ing in  Jesus,  and  grafted  into  him  by  grace  divine,  they  might 
become  trees  of  righteousness,  the  planting  of  the  Lord,  that  he 
might  be  glorified.  They  that  by  faith  obeyed  the  truth,  and  by 
patient  continuance  iu  well-doing,  proved  that  they  were  fruit- 
bearing  trees,  showing  their  faith  by  their  fruits,  had  their  fruit 
unto  holiness,  and  the  end  everlasting  life. 

But  because  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  at  hand,  and  the  oppor- 
tunity of  salvation  is  given,  and  the  Lord  Jesus  stands  and  says, 
*'  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,"  and  men 
are  warned  to  flee  from  the  wrath  to  come,  and  to  bring  forth  fruits 
meet  for  repentance,  therefore  every  tree,  which  bringeth  not  forth 
good  fruit,  is  hewn  down,  and  cast  into  the  fire.  It  is  the  season 
of  men's  gracious  visitation,  and  cannot  be  disregarded  with  impu- 
nity. It  is  the  season  for  the  formation  of  character  and  destiny 
for  eternity  ;  and  both  character  and  destiny  are  manifested  and 
determined  by  fruit ;  fruit  or  no  fruit — good  or  evil. 

Fruit  for  God,  for  Christ — the  fruit  of  faith,  gratitude,  love — 
the  fruit  of  a  loving,  believing,  penitent  heart — is  the  great  crisis 
and  question  of  a  man's  eternal  destiny.  The  first  question  is, 
Fruit  or  no  fruit.  The  appearance  of  fruit — even  a  little,  ever  so 
little — if  it  be  true  fruit,  proves  a  child  of  God.  God's  grace  has 
certainly  been  there ;  Christ's  love  has  certainly  been  there ;  the 
life-giving  Word  and  Spirit  have  been  working  there.  The  next 
question  is.  How  much  fruit  ?  "  Herein  is  my  Father  glorified, 
that  ye  bear  vmch  fruit ;  so  shall  ye  be  my  disciples.  Every  branch 
in  me  that  bringeth  forth  fruit,  he  purgeth  it,  that  it  may  bring 
forth  more  fruit."  He,  my  Father,  the  Husbandman,  by  whoso 
order  the  axe  is  laid  at  the  root  of  all  the  trees.  Every  branch  in 
me  that  beareth  not  fruit,  he  taketh  away.     He  striketh  with  tho 


it' 


A    L1F2    STUDY. 


U 


19, 
80 

has 

the 

next 

fied, 

inch 

ring 

ipse 


axe,  after  the  warning.  If  the  blow  of  the  Word  is  disregarded, 
then  the  axe  follows  ;  but  for  a  long  time,  of  the  Divine  patience, 
the  axe  lieth  still,  while  the  Word  speaketh  with  warning  upon 
.yarning.  It  is  not  with  God,  a  word  and  a  blow,  as  it  often  is  with 
men;  but  God's  long-suffering  and  forbearance  are  great  and 
wonderful,  and  ho  waits  to  bo  gracious,  and  conies  again,  and 
again,  and  a^ain,  with  the  anxious,  loving  inquiry  for  fruit.  Is 
there  no  fruit  ?  How  shall  I  give  thee  up  ?  How  shall  I  make 
thee  as  Admah,  and  reUnquish  thee  to  the  burning  ?  How  often 
would  I  have  gathered  fruit  from  thee,  but  thou  would'st  not ! 

Sometimes  God,  with  loving,  patient  care,  and  tenderness,  cuts 
with  the  knife,  before  ho  strikes  with  the  axe  ;  cuts  that  he  may 
not  be  compelled  to  strike.  He  cuts  the  wood  to  the  heart,  and  he 
prunes  the  branches,  that  ho  may  not  have  to  cut  the  tree  down. 
Every  form  of  discipUne,  but  that  of  the  axe,  is  used  first,  for 
everything  but  this  may  accompany  salvation.  But  the  axe  is 
fatal.  It  is  all  over  with  the  soul,  and  there  is  no  more  hope,  nor 
possibiHty  of  o-uit,  or  life,  when  it  is  severed  from  the  root — from 
the  Saviour.  For  the  earth,  which  drinketh  in  the  rain  which 
cometh  oft  upon  it,  and  bringeth  forth  herbs  meet  for  them  by 
whom  it  is  dressed,  receiveth  blessing  from  God  ;  but  that  which 
beareth  thorns  and  briars  is  rejected,  and  is  nigh  unto  cursing, 
whose  end  is  to  be  bximed. 


tp  til 


^;;i:: 


mj 


1 


The  Sinxeb  and  the  Spider. 


I- 


SINNER. 

[HAT  black,  what  ugly  crawling  thing  art  thou  ? 

'•  SPIDER. 

I  am  a  spider 

SINNER. 

A  spider,  ay :  truly  a  filthy  creature. 

SPIDER. 

Not  filthy  as  thyself  in  name  or  feature : 

My  name  entailed  is  to  my  creation 

My  features  from  the  God  of  thy  salvation. 


SINNER. 

I  am  a  man,  and  in  God's  image  made, 
I  have  a  soul  shall   neither  die  nor  fade  ; 
God  has  possessed  me  with  human  reason, 
Speak  not  against  me,  lest  thou  speakest  treason ; 
For  if  I  am  the  image  of  my  Maker, 
Of  slander  laid  on  me  He  is  partaker. 

I  know  tliou  art  a  creature  far  above  me. 

Therefore  I  siiun,  I  fear,  and  aI^^o  love  thee. 

But  though  thy  God  hath  made  thoe  such  a  creature, 

Thou  hast  against  Him  often  played  tlie  traitor. 

Thy  sin  has  fetched  thee  down :  leave  off  to  boa^t ; 

Nature  tliou  hast  defiled,  God's  image  lost, 

Yea,  thou  thyself  a  very  beast  hast  made, 

And  art  become  like  grass,  which  soon  doth  fade. 

Thy  soul,  thy  reason,  yea,  thy  spotless  state. 

Sin  has  subjected  to  th'  most  dreadful  fate 

But  I  retain  my  primitive  condition, 

I've  all  but  what  I  lost  by  thy  ambition. 

SINNEB. 

Thou  venom'd  thing,  I  know  not  what  to  caK  thee ; 
The  dregs  of  nature  surely  did  befall  thee  ; 
Thou  was't  composed  o'  th'  dross  and  scum  of  all, 
Men  hate  thee,  and,  in  scorn,  thee  Spider  call. 

SPIDER. 

My  venom's  good  for  something,  since  God  made  it ; 
Thy  nature  sin  hath  spoUed,  and  doth  degrade  it. 
Thou  art  despoUed  of  good :  and  though  I  fear  thee, 
I  will  not,  though  I  might,  despise  and  jeer  thee. 
Thou  say'st  I  am  the  very  dregs  of  nature, 
Thy  sin's  the  spawn  of  devils,  'tis  no  creature. 


17 


m  . 


J  i 


hi 


Wi 


i     « 
I  (  f 


.'V 


;* 


A   LIFE  srrrDY: 


lit  t 


Thou  say'st  man  hates  mo  'cause  I  am  a  spider. 

Poor  mau,  thou  at  thy  God  art   a   derider ; 

My  venom  tendeth  to  my  preservation ; 

Thy  pleasing  follies  work  out  thy  damnation. 

Poor  man,  I  keep  the  rules  of  my  creation, 

Thy  sin  has  cast  thee  headlong  from  thy  station. 

I  hurt  nobody  Avillingly ;  but  thou 

Art  a  8elf-murderer<  thou  know'st  not  how 

To  do  what's  good ;  no,  for  thou  lovest  evil 

Thou  fly'st  God's  law,  adherest  to  the  devil. 

SINNER. 

Thou  ill-shaped  thing,  there's  an  antipathy 
'Twixt  man  and  spiders,  'tis  in  vain  to  lie  ; 
Stand  off,  I  hate  thee— if  thou  dost  come  nigh  me, 
I'll  crush  thee  with  my  foot ;  I  do  defy  thee. 

SriDEK. 

They  are  ill-shaped  who  warped  are  \,y  sin, 

Hatred  in  thee  to  God  hath  long  time  been  ; 

No  marvel  then  indeed,  if  me  His  creature, 

Thou  dost  defy,  pretending  name  and  feature. 

But  why  stand  off?     My  presence  shall  not  throng  thee, 

'Tis  not  my  venom,  but  thy  sin  doth  wrong  thee. 

Come,  I  will  teach  thee  wisdom,  do  but  hear  me, 

I  was  made  for  thy  profit,  do  not  fear  me. 

But  if  thy  God  thou  will  not  hearken  to,  • 

What  can  the  swallow,  ant,  and  spider  do  ? 

Yet  will  I  speak,  I  can  but  be  rejected, 

Sometiaies  great  things  by  small  means  are  effected. 

Hark,  then,  though  man  is  noble  by  creation. 

He's  lapsed  now  to  such  degeneration 

As  not  to  grieve,  so  careless  is  he  grown. 

Though  he  himself  has  sadly  overthrown, 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


16 


And  brought  to  bondage  every  earthly  thing, 
Ev'n  from  the  very  spider  to  the  king : 

This  we  poor  sensitives  do  feel  and  see ; 

For  subject  to  the  curse  you  made  us  be. 

Tread  not  upon  me,  neither  from  me  go  ; 

'Tis  man  who  has  brought  all  the  world  to  woe. 

The  law  of  my  creation  bids  me  teach  thee ; 

I  will  nut  for  thy  pride  to  God  impeach  thee. 

I  spin,  I  weave,  and  all  to  let  thee  see 

Thy  best  performances  but  cobwebs  be. 

Thy  glory  now  is  brought  to  such  an  ebb, 

It  doth  not  much  excel  the  spider's  web. 

My  webs  becoming  snares  aud  traps  for  flies, 

Do  set  the  wiles  of  hell  before  thine  eyes  ; 

Their  tangling  nature  is  to  let  thee  see 

Thy  sins,  too,  of  a  tangling  nature  be ; 
My  den,  or  hole,  for  that  'tis  bottomless, 
Doth  of  damnation  shew  the  lastingness. 
My  lying  quiet  till  the  fly  is  catch'd. 
Shews  secretly  hell  hath  thy  ruin  hatch'd. 
In  that  I  on  her  seize,  when  she  is  taken, 
I  shew  who  gathers,  whom  God  hath  forsaken. 
The  fly  lies  buzzing  in  my  web,  to  tell 
How  sinners  always  roar  anddiowl  in  hell. 
Now  since  I  shew  thee  all  these  mysteries, 
How  can'st  thou  hate  me,  or  me  scandalize  ? 

SINNER. 

Well,  well,  I  will  no  more  bo  a  derider, 

I  did  not  look  for  such  things  from  a  spider. 

SPIDER. 

Come,  hold  thy  peace,  what  I  have  yet  to  say, 
If  heeded,  may  help  thee  another  day. 


ill; 


so 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


fl^' 


)  •  1 


PI 


11 


Since  I  an  ugly  ven'mous  creature  be, 

There's  some  resemblance  twixt  vile  man  and  me. 

My  wild  and  heedless  runnings  are  like  those 

Whose  ways  to  ruin  do  their  souls  expose. 

Daylight  is  not  my  time,  I  work  i'  tli'  night, 

To  shew  they  are  like  me  who  hate  the  light. 

The  maid  sweeps  one  web  down,  I  make  another, 

To  shew  how  heedless  ones  convictions  smother. 

My  wtib  is  no  defence  at  all  to  mo. 

Nor  will  I'also  hopes  at  judgment  be  to  theo. 

SINNER. 

0  spider  I  have  lieard  thee,  and  do  wonder 

A  spider  should  thus  lighten  and  thus  thunder  I 

SPIDER. 

Do  but  hold  still,  and  I  will  let  thee  see, 
Yet  in  my  ways  more  mysteries  there  be. 
Shall  not  I  do  thee  good,  if  I  thoo  tell, 

1  shew  to  thee  a  four-fold  way  to  hell  ? 
For  since  I  set  my  web  in  sundry  places, 
I  shew  men  go  to  hell  in  divers  traces. 
One  I  set  in  the  window,  that  I  might 
Shew  some  go  down  to  liell  with  gospel-light. 
One  I  set  in  a  corner,  as  you  see, 

To  shew  how  some  in  Secret  snared  bo. 
Gi'oss  webs  great  store  I  set  in  darksome  places, 
To  shew  how  many  sin  with  brazen  faces. 
Another  web  I  set  aloft  on  high. 
To  shew  there's  some  professing  men  must  die. 
Thus  in  my  ways,  God's  wisdom  doth  conceal ; 
And  by  my  ways  that  wisdom  doth  reveal. 
Hiide  myself  when  I  for  flies  do  wait, 
So  doth  the  devil  Avhen  he  lays  his  bait ; 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


Bl 


If  I  do  fear  the  losing  of  my  prey, 

I  stir  me,  and  more  snares  upon  her  lay. 

This  way,  and  that,  her  wings  and  legs  1  tie, 

That  sure  as  she  is  catch'd,  so  she  must  die. 

But  if  I  see  she's  Hko  to  get  away, 

Then  with  my  venom  I  her  journey  stay. 

All  which  my  ways  the  devil  imitates, 

To  catch  men,  'cause  he  their  salvation  hates. 

SINNEH. 

0  spider,  thou  delight'st  mo  with  thy  skill, 

1  pr'ytheo  spit  this  venom  at  me  still. 

SPIDEK. 

I  am  a  spider,  yet  I  can  possess 

The  palace  of  a  king,  where  happiness 

So  much  abounds.     Nor  when  I  do  go  thither. 

Do  they  ask  what,  or  whence  I  come,  or  whither 

I  make  my  hasty  travels;  no,  not  they : 

They  let  me  pass,  and  I  go  on  my  way. 

I  seize  the  palace,  do  Avith  hands  take  hold 

Of  doors,  of  locks,  or  bolts;  yet  I  am  bold. 

When  in,  to  clamber  up  unto  the  throne, 

And  to  possess  it,  as  if  'twere  my  own. 

Nor  is  there  any  law  forbidding  me 

Here  to  abide,  or  in  this  palace  be. 

At  pleasure  I  ascend  the  highest  stories. 

And  there  I  sit,  and  so  behold  the  glories 

Myself  is  compassed  with,  as  if  I  were 

One  of  the  chiefest  courtiers  that  bo  there. 

Here  lords  and  ladies  do  come  round  about  me, 

With  grave  demeanor,  nor  do  any  flout  me 

For  this  my  brave  adventure,  no  not  they ; 

They  come,  they  go,  but  leave  me  there  to  stay. 


I 


A    LIFE   STUDY. 


Now  my  reproacher,  I  do  by  all  this 

Shew  how  thou  may'et  possess  thyself  of  bliss : 

Thou  art  worse  than  a  spider,  but  take  hold 

Oil  Christ  the  door,  thou  shalt  not  be  controU'd  : 

By  Him  do  thou  the  heavenly  palace  enter ; 

None  e'er  will  chide  thee  for  thy  brave  adventure. 

Approach  thou  then  unto  the  very  throne. 

There  speak  thy  mind ;  fear  not,  the  day's  thine  own. 

Nor  saint,  nor  angel,  will  thee  stop  or  stay. 

But  rather  tumble  blocks  out  of  the  way. 

My  venom  stops  not  me ;  let  not  thy  vice 

Stop  thee ;  possess  thyself  of  paradise. 

Go  on,  I  say,  although  thou  be  a  sinner, 

liOarn  to  be  bold  in  faith,  of  me  a  spinner. 

This  is  the  way  true  glories  to  possess, 

And  to  enjoy  what  no  man  can  express. 

Sometimes  I  find  the  palace-door  up-lock'd. 

And  so  my  entrance  thither  has  up-block'd. 

But  am  I  daunted  ?     No,  I  here  and  there 

Do  feel  and  search ;  and  so  if  anywhere, 

At  any  chink  or  crevice  find  my  way, 

I  crowd,  I  press  for  passage,  make  no  stay : 

And  so  through  difiiculty  I  attain 

The  palace,  yea,  the  throne,  where  princes  reign. 

I  crowd  sometimes  as  if  I'd  burst  in  sunder ; 

And  art  thou  crush'd  with  striving,  do  not  wonder. 

Some  scarce  get  in,  and  yet  indeed  they  enter  : 

Knock,  for  they  nothing  have  that  nothing  venture. 

Nor  Avill  the  king  himself  throw  dirt  on  thee. 

As  thou  hast  cast  reproaches  upon  me. 

He  will  not  hate  thee,  0  thou  foul  backslider: 

As  thou  did'st  me,  because  I  am  a  spider. 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 

Now,  to  conclude :  since  I  much  doctrine  bring, 
Slight  mo  no  more,  call  mo  not  ugly  thing  ; 
God  wisdom  hath  unto  tho  pismire  given. 
And  spiders  may  teach  men  the  way  to  heaven. 

SINNEB. 

Well,  my  good  spider,  I  my  errors  see, 

I  was  a  fool  for  railing  so  at  thee. 

Thy  nature,  venom,  and  thy  fearful  hue. 

But  shew  what  sinners  are,  and  what  they  do. 

Thy  way  and  works  do  also  darkly  tell, 

How  some  men  go  to  heaven  and  some  to  hell. 

Thou  art  my  monitor,  I  am  a  fool ; 

They  may  learn,  that  to  spiders  go  to  school. 


M 


I..;-.  II 


I 


■4— sA 


Mir^i^^^^j 


TuE  Sun  of  Righteousness. 

But  all  tills  wlillo,  whore's  he  whouc  Koldcn  rnys 
Urlvc'B  night  nwny,  ami  bcautlflcH  our  flnysl 
Wlicru's  ho  whoNu  Koodly  fnco  doth  warm  and  hca', 
And  Bhow8  us  what  the  darkHoine  nli{lit8  roiiceal  ? 
Where's  ho  that  thawa  our  Ice,  drives  cold  away  I 
Let's  have  him,  or  wo  care  not  for  the  day. 
Thus  'tis  with  those  who  nro  voni^fHHcd  of  grace, 
There's  nought  to  them  llko  tli  ir  Uiileemer's  face. 

I  HIS  is  forever  the  language  of  true,  deep,  genuine  Cliristiaii 
experience.  It  has  Christ  and  his  love  for  its  centre,  end, 
and  aim.  Its  happiness  is  in  him,  in  the  sense  and 
enjoyment  of  his  presence,  the  light  of  his  countenance,  the  sight 
and  interjiretation  of  his  glory.  The  heart  filled  with  his  light  and 
love,  needs  no  other  happiness.     He  is  the  soul's  all  in  all. 

Whrn  he  reveals  his  face. 
My  da»  Ding  is  begun ; 
lie  is  my  soul's  sweet  morning  Star, 
And  ho  my  rising  Sun. 
Tlie  o  ening  heavens  around  me  shine 

Witli  beams  of  saered  bliss, 
When  Jesus  shows  Ids  heart  is  mine, 
And  whispers  I  am  his. 


fi  LIFE    aTUDY 


se 


ii     !N 


Runyan,  Baxter,  Cowpor,  Braiimrd,  Payson,  and  all  eminent 
saints*  of  every  agt*,  have  had  the  Bamo  experience ;  precisely  the 
same  as  to  ita  source,  object,  and  nature,  ami  varying  only  in 
dinictnosH,  continuance,  intensity.  The  expected  and  desired 
heavtiii  of  the  beliovor,  is  always  that  region  or  abode  where  Christ 
nianitbsts  his  glory,  and  gathers  his  people  to  the  perfect  enjoyment 
of  liis  love.  There  is  no  need  either  of  the  sun  or  the  moon  to 
lighten  that  city,  for  the  glory  of  God  doth  lighten  it,  and  tlie  Lamb 
is  the  light  thereof.  None  but  a  divine  Being,  none  but  God  the 
liodeomor,  could  thus  bo  the  centre  of  the  minds,  the  hearts,  the 
love,  the  adoration,  the  worship,  the  blessed  life,  of  all  created  in- 
telligences; for  he  is  before  all  things,  and  by  him  all  things  con- 
sist, and  he  is  the  Head  over  all  things  to  the  Church,  which  is  liis 
body,  the  fulness  of  Ilim  that  filleth  all  in  all. 

As  the  hart  panteth  after  the  water  brook,  so  panteth  my  soul 
after  thee,  0  God!  My  soul  thirsteth  for  God,  my  heart  and  my 
flesh  crieth  out  for  the  living  God.  When  shall  I  come  and  appear 
before  God  ?  My  tears  have  been  my  moat  day  and  night,  while 
they  say  unto  me.  Where  is  thy  God  ?  My  soul  fainteth  for  thy 
salvation,  but  I  hope  in  thy  word.  Wherever  there  is  this  desire, 
God's  Spirit  has  produced  it.  Where  there  is  this  smoke  ever;  this 
fainting  and  these  tears,  God's  Spirit  is  setting  God's  fire.  The  first 
indication  of  it  may  be  a  very  little  glimmering,  only  enough  to 
hope  for  a  flame,  or  to  show  that  a  fire  is  possible. 

One  of  the  most  precious  fruits  and  results  of  this  longing  of 
the  soul  after  God,  this  panting  for  his  salvation,  is  this,  namely, 
that  it  strips  the  soul  of  all  self-delusion,  and  makes  you  see  your- 
self somewhat  as  God  sees  *you,  lays  you  low  before  God,  makes 
you  penitent  and  contrite,  fills  you  with  abhorrence  of  sin,  makes 
you  watchful  against  sin,  and  causes  you  continually  to  be  crying 
out  for  God's  mercy.  A  very  little  hope  in  this  way,  is  better  than 
a  veiy  large  hope  any  other  way.     A  little  that  a  righteous  man 


'1 1^ 


I  li 


se 


A  LIFE    STUDY 


I 


:il   l' 


11 


hath,  is  better  than  the  riches  of  many  wicked.  Be  mine,  the  coui- 
Ibrts  that  reclaim  the  soul  Irom  Satan's  power !  Be  mine,  the  hope 
that  redeems  me  from  myself,  and  throws  me  upon  God,  my 
Saviour. 

How  beautiful,  how  affecting,  how  encouraging,  is  the  descrip- 
tiou  of  the  panting  for  (iod's  salvation,  in  the  experience  of  the 
sorrowful  yet  happy  soul  of  David  Brainard !  "  God,"  says  he  on  uue 
occabion,  "is  unspeakably  gracious  to  me  continually.  In  times  paht, 
he  has  given  me  inexpressible  delight  in  the  performane  of  duty, 
but  too  frequently  my  soul  has  been  ready  to  say.  Lord,  it  is  good 
to  be  here ;  and  so  to  indulge  sloth,  while  I  have  Uved  on  my  frames 
and  feelings ;  of  late,  however,  God  has  been  pleased  to  keep  my 
soul  hungry  almost  continually,  so  that  I  have  been  filled  with  a 
kind  of  pleasing  pain.  When  I  really  enjoy  God,  I  feel  my  desires 
after  him  the  more  insatiable,  and  my  thirstings  after  holiness  the 
more  unquenchable;  and  the  Lord  will  not  allow  me  to  feel  as 
though  I  were  fully  supplied  and  satisfied,  but  keeps  nie  still  reach- 
ing forward  i  and  I  feel  barren  and  empty,  as  though  I  could  not 
live  without  more  of  God  in  me.  I  feel  ashamed  and  guilty  before 
God.  Oh,  I  see  the  law  is  spiritual,  but  I  am  carnal.  I  do  not,  I 
cannot,  live  to  God.  O  for  holiness !  O  for  more  of  God  in  my 
soul !  0  this  pleasing  pain !  It  makes  my  soul  pine  after  God ; 
the  language  of  it  is,  then  shall  I  be  satisfied,  when  I  awake  in  thy 
likeness,  but  never,  never  before ;  and  consequently  I  strive  to  press 
towards  the  mark,  day  by  day.  Oh,  that  I  may  feel  this  continual 
hunger,  and  not  be  retarded,  but  rather  animated  by  every  cluster 
from  Canaan,  to  reach  forward  in  the  narrow  way,  for  the  full  en- 
joyment and  possession  of  the  heavenly  inheiitance."  Such  is  a  soul 
panting  for  God's  salvation,  and  h..piug  in  hjj  word. 


^g^^tt^N«(g^ 


^^J 


m 


A  Penny-loap  and  the  Brkad  of  Lifk. 


JERE  is  the  IJread  of  Life  offered  by  the  Saviour,  without 
money  and  without  price.  Come,  every  liungry  soul,  and 
buy  and  eat.  To-day,  tliou  may'st  cut,  and  come  again, 
and  the  loaf  will  never  grow  smaller,  but  if  all  mankind  should 
come,  it  would  be  more  than  enough  to  food  all,  if  they  come  while 
the  Saviour  calls ;  but  not  enough  for  one,  if  thou  come  when  it  is 
too  late.  When  once  the  Master  of  the  House  hath  shut  to  the 
door,  and  thou  art  left  without — yea,  by  thine  own  folly  hast  shut 
thyself  out,  thou  wilt  cry  in  vain  for  entrance,  or  for  bread.  Now, 
thou  may'st  have  it  for  the  asking. 

But  thou  must  take  thy  season,  thy  day  of  visitation ;  for  there 
is  an  accepted  time  given  thee,  and  a  day  of  salvation,  and  if  tlio" 


S8 


4    LIFE    STUDY. 


waste  that,  there  ia  no  promise  afterward.  And  every  day  that 
thou  wastest,  thou  runnest  an  iiimiinent  hazard  of  having  lost  thy 
last  opportunity.  O  be  not  so  foolish,  but  to-day,  while  it  is  called 
to-day,  be  thou  found  upon  the  knees  of  the  soul,  seeking  God's 
mercy  in  Christ.  If  thou  knool  to-day  in  spirit,  thou  wilt  do  it 
again  to-morrow,  for  the  Spirit  kneeleth  with  thee,  and  maketh 
intercession  for  thee  with  groanings  that  cannot  bo  uttered,  and 
when  thou  prayest  thus,  thy  prayer  ia  wrung  out  of  thine  impor- 
tuning Boul,  and  will  be  heard  at  the  mercy-seat  and  answered,  for 
it  is  according  to  the  will  of  God. 

He  will  give  thee  the  Bread  of  Life — for  that  thou  hast  come 
and  begged  it  while  it  was  ofltered.  J3ut  if  thou  delay,  to-morrow 
it  will  be  dearer,  and  perhaps  the  next  day  not  to  be  had  at  all,  not 
at  any  price. 

Thy  price  one  penny  is  in  time  of  plenty, 
In  famine,  doubled  'tis  from  o.  o  to  twenty, 
Y  a,  no  man  Ivnows  what  price  on  tliee  to  set, 
Where  tliere  is  hut  one  pcnny-loat  to  get. 

The  loaf's  an  emblem  of  the  Word  of  God, 
Atbingof  low  esteem,  before  the  rod 
Of  fumino  smites  the  soul  with  fear  of  death, 
Batthfn  It  is  ourall,  ourlife,  our  breath. 

Take  it  and  ea'.  it,  sinner,  while  you  may, 
It  may  not  offered  be  another  day. 


i 


i! 


I't. 


Faixu  and  Peace. 


This  pretty  bird,  o)i,  liow  she  flics  and  siriirs 
But  would  she  do  so,  if  hIig  had  not  wiiiLS  ? 
Her  wings  bespeak  ray  faith,  her  KongB,  my  peace; 
When  I  believo  and  sing,  my  doubtings  cease. 

HE  Pilgrim  they  laid  in   a  largo  upper  chamber,  whose 
window  opened  towards  the  sun-rising.     The  nanio  of  the 
chamber  was  Peace,  whero  he  slept  till  break  of  day,  and 
then  he  awoke  and  sang, 

Wlierc  am  I  now  t    Is  this  the  love  and  care 
Or  Jesus, for tlio  men  that  Pilgrims  ore? 
TliuB  to  provide,  that  I  shouid  be  forgiven, 
Anddweilalready  tlie  next  door  to  heiivcnl 

This  is  one  of  tho  Christian's  experiences,  as  a  new  convert, 
and  perhaps  tho  happiest  and  the  best.  Yet  the  chamber  in  which 
he  sleeps  tho  first  night  after  hia  justification  at  tho  Cross,  is  not 


30 


A     LIFE    STUDY. 


\J 


always  this  sweet  chamber  in  the  House  Beautiful,  opening  towards 
the  sunrise.  Or  if  it  bo,  the  sun  does  not  always  rise  so  free  from 
clouds  as  to  be  visible  with  direct  and  steady  shining ;  as  witness 
the  emblems  of  the  Dawning  and  the  Cloudy  Day.  ]5ut  the  sun 
may  shine,  and  may  diiTuse  a  sweet  peace  througli  the  soul,  even 
though  his  orb  cannot  he  seen,  nor  his  place  in  the  sky  reckoned 
by  reason  of  a  veil  of  clouds  prevailing,  it  maybe,  till  liigh  noon, 
perhaps  all  tlie  day ;  and  rain,  and  showers,  and  sleet,  snow,  hail, 
and  black  tempest  before  the  evening.  Yot  all  the  while  the  sun 
18  shining,  and  it  is  because  of  the  sun's  liglit  that  the  believer  sees 
the  clouds,  and  knows  that  they  are  clouds  and  only  transitory,  and 
that  though  they  hide  the  sun  for  a  season,  they  cannot  take  him 
from  the  Christian  firmament,  nor  prevent  liis  light  from  shining. 
Then,  too,  the  liglit  may  be  good  and  suflRciont  for  all  things 
to  live  and  grow  by,  though  not  to  rejoice,  as  all  nature  does,  in 
tlie  Sim's  clear  shining  without  clouds.  There  may  be  light  enough 
for  all  the  fruits  of  the  Spirit  except  transport,  ecstasy  ;  there  may 
be  Police,  and  Peace  on  the  whole  may  be  the  chamber  of  the  soul, 
even  though  there  be  doubtings,  and  changes,  troubles,  and 
alarms.  Where  would  the  exercise  of  a  strong  faith  bo,  if  there 
were  no  clouds,  no  darkened  rooms,  no  distresses,  no  heart-aches  ? 
The  swallow  flies  and  sings  by  day,  and  tlio  lark  in  the  morning 
sunlight.  But  the  nightingale  is  the  bird  of  faitli,  that  all  night 
long  sings,  darkling,  and  sings  in  the  rain,  and  sings  in  happy  con- 
fidence that  the  day  is  coming.  It  is  then  a  proof  of  groat  faith 
when  the  soul  can  say,  not  merely.  When  I  believe  ajid  sing  my 
doubtings  cease,  nor  when  my  doubtings  cease,  then  I  believe  and 
sing ;  but  I  will  believe  and  sing  in  spite  of  my  doubtings.  I  will 
still  believe  in  Christ,  and  sing.  Who  lived  me,  and  gave  himself 
for  me. 


The  Beggar. 

Ho  wantR,  lie  asks,  lie  pleads  his  foverty, 
Tlicy  williin  doors  on  him  an  alms  deny. 
Ilf  (loth  rc^poiit  and  aggravate  his  grief, 
But  they  npulso  him,  give  him  no roilpf. 

lie  begs;  they  say  begone*  he  will  not  hear; 
He  coii!»hB  and  sighs,  to  show  he  still  ia  there; 
They  disregard  liim,  he  repeats  his  groans, 
They  still  say  nay,  and  ho  himself  bcm  nns. 
They  call  him  vagrant,  and  more  nigged  grow; 
lie  cries  the  shriiiur,  trumpets  out  his  woe. 
At  last,  when  they  jierceivc  he'll  take  no  nay, 
An  alms  they  give  htm  without  more  delay. 

The  beggar  doth  resemble  them  that  pray 
To  God  for  mercy,  and  will  take  no  nay; 
But  wait,  and  count   that  all  his  hard  ifainsays 
Are  nothing  else  but  fatherly  delays. 
Then  imitate  him,  praying  souls,  and  cry. 
There's  nothing  like  to  importunity. 

Banyan's  own  example  and  experience  are  a  great  instruction  in 
jtrayer,  and  a  great  encouragement. 


M 


I 


ss 


A   LIFE    STUDY 


"Verily,"  says  Bunyan  "may  I  but  speak  my  own  experience, 
and  from  tliat,  toll  you  the  difficulty  of  praying  to  God  as  I  ought, 
it  is  enough  to  make  you  poor,  blind,  carnal  men  to  entertain  strange 
thoughts  of  me.  For,  as  for  my  heart,  when  I  go  to  pray,  I  find  it 
loth  to  go  to  God,  and  when  it  is  with  him,  so  loth  to  stay  with 
him,  that  many  times  I  am  forced  in  my  prayers  first  to  beg  of  God 
that  he  would  take  mine  lieart,  and  set  it  on  liimself  in  Christ,  and 
when  it  is  there,  that  ho  would  keep  it  there.  Nay,  many  times  I 
know  not  what  to  pray  for,  I  am  so  blind ;  nor  how  to  pray,  1  am 
so  ignorant ;  only  blessed  bo  grace,  the  Spirit  helps  our  infirmities 
Oh !  the  starting  holes  that  the  heart  hath  in  the  time  of  prayer ! 
None  knows  how  many  by-ways  and  back  lanes  the  heart  hath  to 
slip  away  from  the  presence  of  God.  How  much  pride  also,  if 
enabled  with  expression!  How  much  hypocrisy,  if  before  others! 
And  how  little  conscience  is  there  made  of  prayer  between  God 
and  the  soul  in  pecret,  unless  the  Spirit  of  supplication  bo  there  to 
help!  Wlien  the  Spirit  gets  into  tlie  heart,  then  there  is  prayer 
indeed,  but  not  till  then." 

Wordsworth's  sonnet  from  Michael  Angelo,  is  fit  to  accompany 
this  experience  of  Bunyan : 

Till-  pniycrs  I  make  will  then  he  «wcet  Indeed 

If  Thou  tlio  Spirit  (five  by  which  I  pray. 

My  unaBslstcd  heart  \»  barren  clay, 

WhUh  of  Its  native  gclf  can  not  in({  feed 

Of  good  and  pious  works  thou  art  the  poed 

Which  quickens  only  where  Thou  gay'st  it  may ; 

UnlcBB  Thou  show  to  us  thine  own  tnic  way, 

No  man  can  find  It:  Father  I  Thou  muot  lead  I 

Do  Thou  then  breathe  those  thouuhtR  Into  my  mind, 

By  which  such  virtue  may  In  mo  be  bred, 

That  in  thy  lioly  footsteps  I  may  tread 

The  fetters  of  my  tongue  do  Thnii  unbind, 

That  I  may  have  the  power  to  sing  of  Thee, 

And  sound  thy  praises  everlastingly. 

A  man  that  truly  prays  one  prayer,  shall  after  that,  never  be 


f! 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


9S 


ablo   to   express   with  his   mouth  or  pen,    the  unutterable  desires, 
sense,  afi'ection  nnd  longing  that  wont  to  God  in  that  prayer. 

When  David  had  the  pains  of  hell  catching  hold  on  him,  an«l 
the  sorrows  of  hell  conipussing  about,  ho  needs  not  a  bishop  in  a 
surplice,  to  learn  him  to  say,  "  0  !  Lord  I  beseech  thee  deliver  my 
soul !"  Or  to  look  into  a  book  to  teach  him  in  a  form  to  pour  out 
his  heart  before  God. 

7d.uch  of  mine  own  experience  could  I  here  discover ;  when  I 
have  beon  in  my  fits  of  agonies  of  spirit,  I  have  been  strongly 
persuaded  to  leave  oflF,  and  to  seek  the  Lord  no  longer ;  but  being 
made  to  understand  what  great  sinners  the  Lord  hath  had  mercy 
on,  and  how  large  his  promises  were  still  to  sinners ;  and  that  it 
was  not  the  whole,  but  the  sick,  not  the  righteous  but  the  sinner, 
not  the  full,  but  the  empty,  that  he  extended  his  grace  and  mercy 
unto ;  this  made  me  through  the  assistance  of  his  Holy  Spirit  to 
cleave  to  him,  to  hang  upon  him,  and  yet  to  cry,  though  for  the 
present  ho  n.  de  no  answer.  And  the  Lord  help  all  his  poor 
tempted  and  afflicted  people  to  do  the  like,  and  to  continue,  thougli 
it  be  long,  according  to  the  saying  of  the  prophet ;  and  to  help 
them  to  that  end  to  pray  not  by  the  invention  of  men,  and  their 
stinted  forms,  but  with  the  spirit  and  with  the  understanding  also. 

And  verily,  mine  own  experience  tells  me,  that  there  is  nothing 
doth  more  prevail  with  God  than  importunity.  Is  it  not  so  with 
you,  in  respect  of  your  beggars  that  come  to  your  door  ?  Though 
you  have  no  heart  to  give  them  anything  at  their  first  asking,  yet  if 
they  follow  you,  bemoaning  themselves,  and  will  take  no  nay 
without  an  alms,  you  will  give  them  ;  for  their  continual  begging 
overcometh  you.  Is  there  bowels  in  you  that  are  wicked,  and 
will  they  be  wrought  upon  by  an  importuning  beggar  ?  Go  thou 
and  do  the  like.  It  is  a  prevailing  motive,  and  that  by  experience, 
he  will  arise,  and  give  thee  as  many  as  thou  needest. 


1^  •' 

r 


a 


ill 


n 


^0 


Let  mt  tnjoy  but  Tliee,  what  farthrr  crave  If 
And  having  Theealone,  what  have  1  notf 


NOW  ABI<:DETH  FAiTH.  HOPE.  AN<7)   CHARITY.    THESE   THREE, 
BUT  THE  GREATEST  OF  THEC-E  IS  CHARITY.  --Paul 

OVE  is  the  central  figure  of  the  group,  covering  with 
angel  \nngs  the  forms  of  Truth  and  Hope,  lli-r  eyes 
are  bent  upon  the  face  of  Truth  tendorly,  who  liolds  tlu; 
Book  of  the  Protestant  world,  the  IJiblo,  in  her  loft  liand,  whil«' 
with  her  right  hand  she  clasps  tlie  right  hand  of  Hope.  Lovt- is 
young  and  beautiful,  forage  makes  no  impression  u[(on  lior  beyond 
matuiity.  Her  presence  is  a  divine  inspiration,  giving  i  omfort  and 
firmness  to  all  the  objects  of  her  attachment.  She  has  just  come 
from  the  Heavoidy  world,  whoso  arch  of  glory  spans  tlie  finnamont, 
having  Love  in  the  glow  of  the  central  rays. 

Hope  lays  hold  upon  the  right  hand  of  Truth,  bowing  reveren- 
tially to  her,  and  making  an  alliance  over  the  Holy  Book,  while  tlic 
left  hand  and  fore-arm  rest  confidingly  upon  a  noble  and  strong 
anchor.  Behind  her  is  the  Ocean,  whose  near  waves  are  breoking 
in  foam  just  below  her  feet,  but  readies  a  shore  of  light  and  bles^i- 
edness,  far  away  behind  the  sky  of  glory,  out  of  which  Love  hai. 
come  with  her  messages  of  affection. 

Truth  has  placed  her  foot  upon  the  mask  of  falsehood,  which 
has  been  torn  and  thrown  upon  the  ground.  Error  deceives,  and 
wounds  and  overthrows.  But  Truth  saves,  and  makes  friendly 
alliance-;,  and  holds  up  the  hands  of  Hope,  while  Heaven  lends  the 


M 


A     LIFE    STUDY 


radiance  of  tlio  divine  approbation  to  all  lior  bindings  of  tond(»r- 
noss.  The  fool,  tlio  liurltMiuin,  tlio  jiiyglor,  tlio  liuly  of  fashion 
have  no  part  in  hor  holy  Bocioty.  Deception  and  enbterfugo  lloo 
from  tlio  words  of  hor  book,  and  avoid  tho  light  of  hor  path.  All 
the  diuightora  of  ploasnre  hide  thoir  faces  at  hor  approach,  and 
bnfiik  their  hearts  when  thoy  comprehend  the  purity  of  hor  life, 
and  know  tho  happiness  of  her  home,  and  see  the  beauty  of  her 
children. 

Faith  is  symbolized  in  that  graceful  Btructure,  the  House  of 
Prayer,  just  back  of  tho  figures,  whoso  excellences  we  admire,  and 
whoso  impin't  we  liopo  to  know  in  tho  manners  and  customs  of  life. 
That  House  is  the  abiding-placo  of  Gt)d'8  namo,  fiu-  it  is  written 
there.  In  it,  the  tribes  of  spiritual  Israel  are  gathered  to  keep 
holy  tho  Sabbath,  unto  tho  Lord.  It  is  fit,  that  childhood  and  j  outli 
should  go  up  to  the  House  of  Prayer,  and  th(>ro  .seo  the  Love, 
tho  Truth,  the  Book,  the  Hope,  the  Ocean,  tho  Heaven  lighted  up, 
and  thonce  bo  led  away  into  the  dim  world  beyond  tliat  cloudy 
glory,  whore  Love  dwells  forever  with  God  and  Angels. 

What  luive  not  the  Bible  and  the  House  of  God  done  for  the 
Christian  world  1  Two  thousand  years  of  history  can  but  life- 
sketch  tho  names,  by  trophies  won  unto  holiness  and  to  Heaven  by 
the  ie  moans.  God's  will  revealed  to  man,  and  God's  House,  where 
Ho  will  moot  His  people  and  hear  them  pray  to  Him,  aro  tomako 
kind  assurances  of  thoir  liberties,  their  coiuitry,  their  Homes, 
their  final  Salvation. 


-^i 


i 


i 


1  V?»f  ^  1< 

nu-     -^ 

fc4^#«^i\f^ 

y      J 

rr*''^'5s.  ^  * 

■PPi|| 

n            '  ■'^ -mm^'*^    J  \\ 

■^ 

'^^4^>- 

-rT^^tt^ill 

IS 


e\ 


^^g)=<r?tt?^s— (^ 


^9 


The  Dawning. 

[ILL  the  day  dawns  and  the  day-star  arise  in  your  hearts, 
bo  content  with  the  prophets  ;  only  in  them  wait  on  God. 
Wlio  is  among  you  that  so  doing  walketh  in  darkness  and 
hath  no  light  ?  Is  it  so  tliat  there  can  bo  sucli  a  case  ?  Is  this 
possible?  Does  God  over  lot  a  man  Avait  on  him  without  light? 
The  light  of  enjoyment  may  bo  wanting  for  a  season,  but  the  light 
of  life  shall  not.  He  that  followeth  mo  shall  not  walk  in  darkness, 
but  shall  have  tho  light  of  life.  Doth  any  man  walk  in  darkness? 
Lot  him  trust  in  tho  namo  of  the  Lord,  and  stay  upon  his  God. 
Then  there  will  bo  light. 


'If 


if 


% 


M 


A     LIFE    STUDY. 


At  punp  of  d.iy,  1  often  cannot  know 
WlieUiiT  'tlM  mikIiI,  wliutliur  'tin  cliiy  or  no, 
I  fancy  that  I  koo  a  httlu  IIkIiI, 
But  cunnot  yot  dlitlnKUlali  day  from  nlt,'lit ; 
I  hupv,  I  doubt,  but  certain  yet  I  bo  not, 
I  Bm  not  at  a  point,  tho  sun  I  iiuu  not. 
Thus  such  who  .ro  but  juit  of  ({rncc  pnMvKt, 
They  know  not  yut  If  thuy  be  cunt  or  bluit. 

But  ono  thing  they  know,  namely,  that  light  is  sown  for  the 
righteous,  und  gladness  for  the  upright  in  lieart.  And  nn  upright 
heart  i»  not  a  heart  that  ia  perfect,  or  that  has  no  sin ;  but  a  lieart 
that  is  looking  to  Christ  for  deliverance  from  sin,  a  luuirt  that  is 
struggling  after  God,  a  heart  that  desires  to  please  him,  a  heart 
that  is  trying  to  find  him.  Well,  for  such  a  heart  there  is  light  laid 
down  in  the  furrow,  and  gladness  in  store.  The  light  will  soon 
Hpring  up,  for  it  is  sown,  and  tlumgh  at  first  rising  it  may  be  but 
as  the  pale  green  blade  when  it  pecjis  forth  from  tho  earth,  still  it 
is  light,  and  shall  shine  more  and  more  unto  the  perfect  day.  And 
there  shall  bo  a  great  harvest  of  gladness. 

All  light  that  is  life,  is  hid  within  the  heart,  before  it  is  seen 
by  the  heart.  It  is  hid  within  the  heart  that  asks  for  it.  It  does 
not  depend  on  external  teaching,  though  tho  liglit  of  the  "Word  as 
an  external  sun  may  stir  up  the  heart  to  ask  for  tho  light  of  life, 
to  beg  for  its  inward  experience.  The  Word  itself  is  a  sun  shining 
on  all  men  and  their  ways,  and  at  first  that  is  tho  only  way  in 
which  any  man  sees  it  and  hears  it.  It  calls  men  to  God,  but  it 
does  not  become  their  life,  till  they  receive  and  hido  it  in  their 
hearts.  All  the  light  that  comes  as  life,  comes  from  Christ  within, 
from  tho  Word  abiding  in  the  soul. 

And  this  inward  sense  and  light  of  tho  Word  and  of  Christ,  is 
that  state  of  mind  when  evidence  passes  into  life  ;  tho  substance  of 
things  hoped  for,  tho  evidence  of  things  not  seen.  This  is  tho  only 
true  understanding  of  them,  for  they  are   to    the    natural   man 


uIPE    CTUDY 


W 


fooliNhnoss ;  as  if  ho  locikod  ut  a  pioco  of  tiipoHtry  on  tlin  wroiij; 
hiilo,  tiiga  and  twisted  tuitn  of  divurs  colors  l)»'inj^  ull  that  ho  cuii 
Hoo,  but  iioither  hindscapo  nor  nu'iinii\j^.  Tlio  very  proniist-.s  of 
God'tt  Word,  the  most  ravishing  of  them,  liud  an  intori>rotation  and 
possoHS  a  ]»owor  only  within  tho  heait  whoro  Uod's  illuminating 
gnico  is  prt'sont. 

To  tho  natural  iiuin,  and  hy  tho  daylight  of  this  world  nu-roly, 
tho  promises  uro  as  u  dead  transparency.  But  when  tho  8[)irit  ol 
Uod  in  tho  heart  goes  behind  them,  and  lights  them  up,  then  they 
shino;  and  hhiao  tho  brightest  when  it  is  darkest  night.  Tht< 
world  shut  out,  and  heaven  brought  in,  tho  8(nd  in  sueh  nivi>h- 
ing  communion  with  God  and  Christ,  and  tho  gh)rio8  that  are 
unseen  and  eternal,  is  almost  liko  Paul  caught  up  into  tho  third 
heavens;  liko  Potor,  and  Jamos  and  John,  on  tho  Mount  of  Trans- 
tiguration;  and  these  divino,  celestial  forms  and  realities  are  as  a 
cloud  overshadowing  them.  Tho  soul  of  tho  humblest  believer, 
is  baptized  in  such  a  cloud,  when  it  liolds  its  sweet  permitted  and 
accustomed  communion  with  tho  Saviour.  Strengthened  by  such 
communion,  it  can  go  down  into  tho  world,  and  every  blissful? 
reality  it  has  conversed  with,  shall  bo  as  tho  radiant  wings  of  angels 
bearing  it  up,  and  as  comi)anions  trooping  around  it. 


t- 


i 


Satax  at  Blind  Man's  Buj-'f. 


MAN'S  back  may  be  turned  to  Satan,  and  his  faee  towards 
Christ ;  and  yet  ho  may  in  Ixeart  bo  inrnod  away  from 
Christ,  and  joined  to  Satan.  He  may  be  tnlveu  captive  by 
Satan  at  his  will ;  he  may  be  a  mere  plaything  in  the  hands  of 
Satan,  as  this  fellow  is  with  the  fool's-cap  on  his  head,  whom  Satan 
ia  blinding  with  a  bandage  round  his  eyes. 

If  he  did  not  permit  himself  to  be  thus  played  with,  Satan 
could  do  nothing  with  }xim.  Eesist  the  devil,  and  he  will  floe  from 
you.  But  let  him  play  bUndman's  buff  with  you,  and  he  will  bind 
and  knct  the  handkerchief  so  tight  that  you  cannot  remove  it,  for 
that  is  his  art,  and  he  makes  men  think  tliey  can  see  through  it, 
when  they  go  about  as  blind  as  Elymas,  the  sorcerer,  tind  grope 
among  spiritual  things  in  the  dark  as  at  noon-day. 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


41 


In  whom  the  god  of  this  world  hath  })lindod  tho  minds  of  tlu-m 
tliat  beliovo  not,  lest  the  light  of  the  glorious  Gospel  of  Christ,  who 
is  the  image  of  God,  should  sluno  unto  them.  Under  tho  power  of 
unbeUef,  beneath  the  veil  of  Satan,  and  of  tho  tilings  of  tlil.i  woild, 
they  cauiiot  see  Christ — they  are  im])ervious  to  this  light. 

And  we  may  see  what  a  divine  rosouo  from  8atan  is 
necessary,  and  what  a  divine  illuminatit)n  must  bo  granted,  in  order 
to  behold  Christ's  glory,  Hut  this  is  granted  to  prayer,  and  whon 
the  heart,  though  blindfolded  and  buffeted  by  Satan,  turns  to  tho 
Lord,  the  veil  shall  be  taken  away,  and  Ixiliolding,  iv.\  in  a  glass, 
his  glory,  the  soul  shall  be  changed  into  his  imago. 

The  work  of  Satan  with  men's  minds,  is  to  keep  out  tho  word, 
tho  heavenly  light  from  shining.  But  if  it  bo  true  that  man  lives 
only  by  every  word  of  God,  being  by  faith  tho  IJroad  of  1  ale  to  tlio 
80ul,  then,  if  Satan  can  succeed  in  keeping  men  fn)m  eating  tliat  bread 
— that  word — he  can  destroy  them.  And  if  he  can  help  tliem  in 
imbeliof,  that  cuta  them  off  from  the  Word,  from  the  power  of  it, 
from,  all  experience  of  its  spiritual  efficacy.  Iloncc  tho  nec»!s- 
sity  of  earnest  effort  to  bring  the  Word  and  the  heart  together,  and 
to  keep  them  in  contact.  When  your  htiart  is  under  tho  pressure 
of  the  Word  of  God,  then  you  are  in  the  way  of  life — you  aro  not 
necessarily  in  unbelief;  you  may  be  sanctified  by  tlie  truth,  for  that 
is  its  natural  operation. 

But  under  the  handling  of  Tatan,  men's  minds  aro  like  a  mir- 
ror—<«ie  side  of  which  is  coated  with  quicksilver,  so  that  if  the 
silvered  side  is  turned  towards  any  object,  there  can  be  no  reflec- 
tion of  it.  Even  if  turned  towards  the  sun  at  noon-day,  tliero 
would  be  no  reflection  of  the  sun.  And  Satan  keeps  only  tliat 
coated,  covered  side  of  the  mirror  turned  towards  God,  towards  tho 
Sun  of  Righteousness,  tho  Redeemer,  so  that  there  can  bo  neither 
sight,  sense,  nor  reflection  of  his  glory. 

But  the  other  side,  or  face,  of  this  mirror,  which  is  turned 


l> 


*:| 


f^ 


<i.-: 


i 


40 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


towards  the  world,  reflects  that,  with  all  its  objects,  pursuits,  and 
pleasures,  fully,  completely.     That  is  the  devil's  veiling  art— by  the 
things  of  time,  sense,  and  sin,  to  keep  out  the  things  of  eternity. 
80  with  the  hearts  of  men  under  the  veil  of  sin  and  unbeUef,  which 
after  all,  is  simply  the  coating  of  the  soul  with  desires,  habits,  and 
interests  earthly,  selfish,   and  sinful.     Tliat  side,  the  side  under 
the  veil,  is  tlie  only  side  that  Satan  permits  to  be  turned  tov/ai-ds 
heaven,  the  coated,  vnreflecting  side  only;  while  the  other  side,  the 
mirror  side,  the  seeing  and  reflecting  side,  is  turned  towards  the 
earth,    and   consequently   reflects    that,  and  nothing    else.     And 
so  men  walk  ou  in  darkness,  beholding  and  reflecting  only  this 
world,  its  objects,  and  pursuits;  heaven,  and  God  and  Christ  just 
as  much  shut  out,  as  if  there  were  no  heaven,  no  God,  no  Savii)ur. 
True  faith  has  its  seat  in  tlio  lunirt,  not  in  tho  unuorstandinfi', 
merely.     The  same  is  true  of  unbelief,  which,  beginning  in  tln! 
heart,  liaving  its  Ufo  there,  proceedeth  outward  like  a  moving  mist, 
or  veil,  and  darkens  the  understanding,  being  alienated  from  the 
life  of  God  through  the  ignorance  that  is  in  them,  because  of  the 
blindness  of  the  heart. 

The  behoving  betrt  takes  the  personal  interest — mingles  it 
with  the  affections.  Truth  in  tho  heart  is  like  leaven,  causing  the 
whole  mixture  to  l-econ^e  broad,  hearty,  wholesome,  nourishing. 
But  truth  falUng  in  the  mind  only,  is  like  varnish,  or  a  wash,  ou 
the  outside  of  a  piece  of  furniture.  The  lieart  tries  the  truth  in  th-i 
crucible  of  personal  experience,  and  tiion,  and  thus,  possesses  if, 
forever. 


:::v^ 


nMs^f^^"^' 


f 


The  Cloudy  Morning. 


^^W 


WcU,  Willi  the  day  Isco  the  cloudn  appear 
And  m  x  the  light  with  durkncvH  cvcrywlicre, 
ThiH  thrcalona  those  who  on  longjournoy»  go, 
Tliat  thf y  shall  meet  tho  elahby  rain  or  «now  ; 
KIsc  while  I  iiazc,  the  sun  doth  with  his  briiiiiH 
B^lace  the  clouds,  as  'twcii-  with  bloody  Htreams  ; 
Then  suddenly  those  clouds  do  watery  grow. 
And  wee>  and  pour  their  tears  out  as  they  go. 
Thus  'tis  when  uospel  liirht  doth  usher  i;i. 
To  us  both  sense  of  grace  and  sense  of  sin  ; 
Yea,  when  it  makes  sin  red  with  Jesus'  blood, 
Then  we  can  wee]>,  till  weepinu  does  us  l'oi  d. 

EEPINO  may  onduro  for  a  night,  l)ut  joy  comotli  in  the 
morning.  A  soaso  of  sin  introduces  the  soul  to  the 
►Saviour,  and  makes  it  son  and  fool  his  glory,  sweetness, 
and  preciousness.  Even  the  high  hillows  rising  between  liim  and 
the  soul,  ai'o  good  to  increase  ami  tiuicken  the  sense  of  dependence 
upon  liim,  and  to  hasten  and  strengtheu  the  effort  of  the  Boul 
struggling  after  him.  Such  difhcidties  are  good  for  growth  in 
grace,  and  the  clouds  are  good  when  they  hriug  showers,  and  tlio 
rnin  of  weeping,  i.s  good  to  moisten  tho  heart  and  give  expressioTi 
and  sensibility  to  its  cimtritiou,  and  so  it  becomes  very  fruitful. 


i|' 


44 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


Is  it  80,  asks  Banyan,  that  they  that  are  coming  to  Jesus  Christ, 
are  oftimes  heartily  afraid  that  Josus  Christ  will  not  receive  them  V 
This  ho  asks  on  the  occasion  of  Peter's  sinking  in  the  sea,  when  he 
was  coming  to  Jesus.  And  he  answers  his  own  asking,  hy  affirm- 
ing that  faith  and  doubting  may,  at  the  same  time,  have  their  resi- 
dence in  the  same  soul.  0 !  thou  of  little  faith,  wherefoi-e  dost 
thou  doubt?  He  saith  not,  O  !  thou  of  no  faith;  but  O  !  thou  of 
littlo  faith ;  because  ho  had  a  little  faith,  in  the  midst  of  his  many 
doubts. 

The  same  is  truo  even  of  many  that  are  coming  to  Jesus  Christ. 
They  come,  and  fear  they  come  not,  and  doubt  they  come  not. 
When  they  h^ok  upon  the  promise,  or  a  word  of  encouragement,  by 
fiiith,  tlien  they  come;  when  they  look  upon  themselves  or  the 
ditliculties  that  lie  before  them,  then  they  doubt,  "liid  mo  come," 
said  Peter;  "Come,''  said  Christ.  8o  ho  went  out  of  the  ship,  to 
goto  Jesus,  but  his  hap  was  to  go  to  him  upon  the  water;  then 
was  the  trial.  tSo  it  was  with  the  poor  desiring  soul.  "Bid  me 
come,"  Rays  the  sinner;  "Come,"  says  Christ,  "  and  I  will  in  no 
wise  cast  thee  out."  So  he  comes,  but  his  hap  is  to  come  upon  the 
water,  upon  drowning  difficulties ;  if  therefore,  the  wind  of  temp- 
tations blow,  the  waves  of  doubts  and  fears  will  presently  arise, 
and  this  coming  sinner  will  begin  to  sink,  if  he  has  but  little  faith. 

But  you  shall  fird  here  in  Peter's  little  faith  a  twofold  act;  to 
wit,  coming  and  crying.  Little  faith  cannot  come  all  the  way 
without  crpng.  So  long  as  its  holy  boldness  lasts,  so  long  it  can 
come  with  peace;  but  when  it  is  so,  it  can  come  no  farther,  it  will 
go  the  rest  of  the  way  with  crj'ing.  Peter  went  as  far  as  his  little 
faith  would  carry  him.  lie  also  cried  as  far  as  his  little  faith  c<niM 
help,  Lord  save  me,  I  perish!  And  so,  with  coming  and  crying  ho 
was  kept  from  sinking.  Though  he  had  but  a  little  faith,  Jesus 
stretched  forth  his  hand  and  caught  him,  and  said  unto  him,  *'  0! 
thou  of  littlo  faith,  wherefore  did'st  thou  doubt !" 


The  Love  of  Chkist. 

HE  love  of  Christ,  poor  I !  may  touch  upon  ; 
But,  'tis  uusearcliabli'.     Oh  !  there  is  none 
Its  lar<j:o  dimensions  can  comprehend, 
Should  they  diUito  thereon  ■world  without  end. 

When  wo  had  sinn'd,  He  in  His  zeal  did  swear, 
That  He  upon  His  back  our  sins  woukl  bear. 
And  since  to  sin  there  is  entailed  death, 
He  vowed  that  for  our  sins  He'd  lose  His  breath. 

Ho  did  not  only  say,  vow,  or  resolve. 
But  to  astonishment  did  so  involve 
Himself  in  man's  distress  and  misery, 
As  for  and  with  him  both  to  live  and  die. 


4-1 
1  I  ii 


I 


m 


,p 


S,:. : 


W  M 


40 


,■(1  LIFE    STUDY 


To  TTis  otornnl  famo  in  sacred  story, 
Wo  find  that  ITo  did  lay  aside  Flis  glory. 
Stopped  from  the  throne  of  highest  dignity, 
IJocamo  poor  man,  did  in  a  manger  lie; 
Yea,  was  beholden  upon  Jlis  for  broad. 
Had  of  His  own,  not  where  to  lay  His  head  : 
Though  rich,  Ho  did  i\.r  us  become  thus  poor, 
That  Ho  miglit  make  us  rich  for  evermore. 
Yet  this  was  least  of  what  He  did  ; 
Lut  tho  outside  of  what  He  suffered. 
God  made  His  bU^sscd  Htm  under  tho  law  ; 
Under  the  curse,  whicli,  like  tho  lion's  paw, 
Hid  rend  and  tear  His  soul,  for  mankind's  sin, 
Moro  than  if  we  for  it  in  hell  had  been. 
His  cries,  His  tears,  and  bloody  agony. 
The  nature  of  His  death  doth  testify 

Nor  did  Ho  of  constraint  Himself  thus  give 
For  sin  to  death,  that  man  might  with  Him  live. 
He  did  do  what  He  did  most  willingly, 
He  snug,  and  gave  God  thanks  that  Ho  must  die. 
Did  ever  king  die  for  a  captive  slave  ? 
Yet  such  were  we  whom  Jesus  died  to  save. 
Yea,  when  Ho  made  Himself  a  sacrifice, 
It  was  that  He  might  save  his  enemies. 

And,  though  He  was  provoked  to  retract 
His  blest  resolves  to  do  so  kind  an  act 
By  the  abusive  carriages  of  those 
That  did  both  Him,  His  love,  and  grace  oppose  ; 
Yet  He  aa  unconcerned  about  such  things, 
Goea  on,  determines  to  make  captive  kings : 
Yea,  many  of  His  murderers  Ho  takes 
Into  His  favour,  and  them  princes  makes. 


COREESPONDINO  Emblem,  illustnitivo  of  God's,  disci- 
pline with  tho  Christian,  is  that  of  tho  Vino  in  tho  Vino- 
yard,  yielding  only  wild  grapes.  It  was  plant('(l  for  the 
grapes,  for  such  fruit  of  tho  vino  as  Clirist  indicates,  wIkmi  ho  says 
that  ho  means  to  drink  of  tlio  fruit  of  tlie  vino,  witli  liis  distaples, 
in  his  Father's  kingdom.  But  what  is  tlio  vino  good  for  more 
than  any  other  tree,  if  it  do  not  bring  forth  that  very  fruit  for 
which  it  was  plant(;d  ? 

There  are  two  things  set  down  as  a  curso,  and  as  bringing  a 
curse.  First,  no  fruit  ai.  all,  emptiness,  barrenness,  deadnoss, 
abiding  not  in  Christ.  If  a  man  abide  not  in  mo,  lie  is  cast  forth 
as  a  brantih  and  is  withered,  and  men  gather  them,  and  cast  thorn 
into  tho  fire,  and  they  are  burned.  J'Jvery  tree  that  bringtith  vot 
forth  good  fruit.     But  how  much  more  tho  vino-tree,  whoso  only 


m: 


uv 


' '     '   (I 


.  I- 


ii-  I 


48 


A     LIFE    i-rUDY. 


usefulness  is  in  its  fruit.  How  much  more  he,  that  beneath  the 
name  of  a  Christian,  who  if  he  be  not  a  Christian,  is  good  for  noth- 
ing, nay,  is  worse  than  nothing — a  cuniberer,  a  bad  example,  a 
caricature,  a  betrayer  of  his  Lord,  and  of  his  cause,  into  the  hands 
of  sinners,  a  stumbling-block,  perhaps  over  which  others  stumble 
and  fall. 

For  every  tree  is  known  by  hk  own  fruit,  that  for  which  the 
tree  was  chosen  and  planted,  and  by  which  it  has  its  reputation 
and  its  worth.  For  of  thorns  luuu  do  not  gather  figs,  ncitlusr  of  a 
bramble-bush  gather  they  grapes.  They  do  not  look  for  griipos  or 
figs  on  bramble-bushes,  and,  therefore,  thoy  are  not  disappointed. 
But  when  thoy  come  to  a  fig-troo  and  find  nothing  thereon  but 
leaves,  or  to  a  vine-tree,  and  find  no  grapes,  thoy  are  not  only  dis- 
appointed, but  angry  as  at  a  deception,  and  thoy  regard  tluit  tree 
as  more  worthless,  by  far,  on  account  of  its  fair  profoshion,  than  if 
it  had  been  from  the  outset  a  mere  miserable  bramble,  that  men 
would  know  for  what  it  was,  and  never  would  have  been  caught  or 
cheated  by  it,  or  gone  out  of  their  way,  thinking  to  find  fruit 
upon  it. 

They  that  hang  out  the  professiijn  but  not  the  fruit,  are  like 
Job's  deceitful  wells  and  empty  brooks  channelled  in  the  desert.  As  the 
stream  of  brooks  wherein  the  snow  is  hid,  they  pass  away,  and 
vanish  just  then  and  there,  when  they  are  most  needed.  "When  it 
is  hot,  and  the  traveler  is  dying  for  thirst,  then  thoy  are  consumed 
out  of  their  place ;  tlieir  paths  go  to  nothing  and  perish ;  the 
troops  of  pilgrims  that  waited  for  them,  and  followed  them,  and 
rested  their  whole  hope  of  life  upon  them,  are  confounded  because 
they  had  hoped.  If  they  had  not  been  lod  to  hope,  they  would 
have  put  their  strength,  all  that  was  left  them,  into  some  other 
refuge.  But  they  had  just  strength  enough  hift  to  come  thither,  to 
the  borders  of  the  channel,  to  the  curb  of  the  fountain ;  and, 
behold,  alas,  it  is  as  dry  as  the  burning  sand  around  them,  and 


fi   LIFE    a  UDY. 


40 


they  have  nothing  more  that  they  can  do,  but  to  lie  down  nnd  die. 
And  those  ugtiin,  aftorwarda  doceivud  in  liko  manner  will  find  their 
bones  bleaching. 

So  the  wood  of  a  vino-troe  that  boars  no  grapes,  is  no  whit 
better  than  the  salt  that  has  lost  its  savor.  It  is  thenceforth  good 
for  nothing  but  to  bo  cast  out  and  to  be  trodden  under  foot  of  men. 
And,  even  so,  when  men  find  out  the  absolute  wovthlessness  of  men 
for  the  purposes  fur  which  tlu>y  were  vaunted,  all  the  other  good 
qualitifs  that  might  have  been  in  them,  buffer  an  eclip.se,  and  arc 
good  for  nothing.  They  are  thenceforth  refuse  matter  and  cheats. 
Men  are  angry  against  them  for  their  hypocrisy  and  falsehood. 

The  sole  preciousness  and  usefulness  of  tlio  vine-tree,  is  in  its 
fruit,  and  its  fruitfulness.  For  in  itself  it  is  gnarled,  crooke<l,  dis- 
torted ;  winding  and  curling  about  as  wilful  and  wanton  as  its  own 
tendrils,  hardly  a  foot's  length  running  straight  enough  to  make  a 
pin  to  hang  a  man's  jacket  upon,  or  a  cane  to  loan  upon,  or  any 
smooth  wood  fur  planing  or  for  work.  It  is  good  only  for  fuel,  fit 
only  to  be  burned,  and  that  is  the  conclusion  of  the  apostle  in 
regard  to  fruitless  professors  of  religion,  those  that  abide  not  in 
Christ,  and,  consequently,  cannot  be  partakers  of  his  life,  nor  pro- 
duce the  fruits  of  the  Spirit ;  whose  end  is  to  bo  burned. 


I  5 


'i 


( )TIN  T5TJNYAN  tells  us  that  thoro  wore  sovcriil  pinnoc-'les 
boloTigiiig  to  tho  toniplo.  Thoso  piumiclos  stood  on  the 
tnji,  uloft  ill  tlio  air,  ami  woro  sharp,  and,  thoroforo, 
difhcult  to  stand  upon.  I,  tlioroforo,  says  ho,  tuko  those 
pinnacles  to  he  types  of  those  lofty,  airy  notions  with  which 
some  men  delight  themselves,  while  thoy  hover  like  birds 
above  the  solid  and  godly  truths  of  Christ.  Satan  attempted  to 
entertain  Christ  Jesus  with  this  type  and  antitype  at  once,  when 
he  set  him  on  one  of  the  pinnacjles  of  tho  temple,  and  offered  to 
thrust  him  upon  a  false  confidence  in  God,  by  a  false  and  unsound 
interpretation  of  a  text. 

'*  Sonie  men  cannot  be  content  to  worship  in  the  temple,  but 
must  be  aloft;  no  place  will  serve  them  but  i)innacles — pinnacles, 
that  they  may  be  speaking  in  and  to  the  air,  that  thoy  may  be 


A     LIFE    STUDY. 


tl 


promotinp  their  lioady  notions,  instrad  nf  solid  truth,  not  consider- 
ing that  now  thoy  aro  just  wliuro  tlio  duvil  would  have  thorn  bo. 
Tluty  strut  upon  thi'ir  points,  their  pinnacles,  but  h-t  theiu  look  to 
it — thero  is  ditlicult  standin}^  upon  pinnadea  ;  their  neek,  their  soul, 
is  in  danger.  Wo  road,  Ood  is  in  his  templo,  not  upon  those 
pinnacles. 

"  It  is  true,  Christ  was  onco  upon  ono  of  these ;  but  the  devil  set 
him  there,  with  intent  to  dash  him  in  pieces  by  a  fall ;  and  yet 
even  tlu'n  told  him,  if  h.»  would  venture  to  tumble  ihtwn,  ho  should 
bo  kept  from  dashing  liis  foot  a<rainst  a  stone.  To  bo  thero,  there- 
fore, was  one  of  Christ's  temptations;  consequently  one  of  Satan's 
stratagcuus;  nor  went  ho  thitiu^r  of  liis  own  accord,  f»)r  he  know 
that  thero  was  danger  ;  ho  loved  not  to  clamber  pinnacles. 

"This  should  teach  (Jhristians  to  bo  low  and  little  in  their  own 
eyes,  and  to  forbear  to  intrude  into  airy  and  vain  spciiilations,  and 
to  take  heed  of  being  puffed  up  with  a  foul  and  empty  mind." 

Knowledge,  says  the  apostle,  puHeth  up,  but  love  buil<leth  up. 
Knowledge  is  proud,  beciauso  he  knows  so  much;  wisdom  is  humble 
that  ho  knows  no  more.  The  conceit  of  kiutwledgo  carries  men  to 
pinnacles,  that  they  may  bo  observed,  and  may  gather  ft  lU)Wor8. 
But  it  is  only  those  who  aro  rooted  and  grounded  in  love,  that  are 
able  to  comprehend  tl  10  depths  and  heights  incomprehensibh«,  and 
to  know  the  love  of  Christ  which  passoth  knowledge.  Love  keeps 
them  humble  ;  love  preserves  them  from  presumption. 

There  are  plenty  of  these  outside  pinnacle  men,  who  worship 
not  within  tho  temple,  but  above  it  in  the  air.  iSunyan's  d(iscrip- 
tions  bites  them  shrewdly.  There  are  not  wanting  pinnaclt?  teach- 
ers, pinnacle  theologians,  pinnacle  philosophers,  rope-dancers  across 
theological  Niagaras. 

Here  was  Satan  attempting  an  Ecve  ITomo,  earlier  than  Pilate, 
earlier  than  Eenan  and  his  followers.  If  he  had  succeeded,  it 
would  indeed  have  proved  Christ  but  a  man,  and  a  very  imperfect 


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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

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63 


A    LIFE    STUDY 


and  presumptuous  one.  For  if  Christ  had  obeyed  the  suggestion 
of  the  tempter,  to  try  the  question  of  his  di\  ine  power  and  sonship, 
by  a  miracle,  it  would  have  proved  doubt,  distrust,  presumption, 
vanity,  pride,  self-seeking.  If  to  show  his  divinity,  and  prove  him- 
self the  Messiah  at  Satan's  will,  by  constraining  God  to  interpose 
in  his  behalf,  in  order  so  to  fulfill  the  Scripture  quoted  by  the  devil, 
this  would  have  been  the  weakness  of  a  character  ^altogether 
human,  not  divine.  Not  so  was  Christ  to  bo  lifted  up,  and  to  draw 
all  men  unto  him ;  not  on  a  pinnacle  of  the  temple,  but  on  the 
altar,  himself  mysteriously  the  temple,  the  altar,  and  the  sacrifice. 
Satan,  baffled,  fled ;  but  he  has  had  plenty  of  success  ever 
since.  Ho  is  fond  of  pinnacles  for  temptations ;  he  is  coiitmually 
setting  men  on  pinnacles,  to  tumble  them  down.  Our  Lord  com- 
mands us  to  be  ever  clothed  with  humility,  and  in  honor  to  be  pre- 
ferring one  another  ;  but  this  setting  another  on  a  pinnacle,  is  just 
putting  an  occasion  to  fall  in  a  brother's  way.  Satan  sets  men  up, 
in  order  to  tip  them  over — he  makes  nine-pins  of  them  through 
their  own  ambition.  He  hoists  them  up  by  his  elevator  into  the 
very  skies,  where  they  see  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world,  and 
the  glory  of  them,  in  a  moment.  He  has  pinnacles  for  intellect, 
for  genius,  for  imagination,  for  subtlety  of  mind.  They  throw  their 
books,  if  not  themselves,  off  into  the  air,  and  then  come  down  by 
the  stairs  of  the  temple,  not  daring  to  follow  their  OAvn  rneculations, 
but  seeking,  nevertheless,  to  raise  admiration  and  wondering  doubt 
of  Jews,  that  require  a  sign,  and  of  Greeks  that  seek  after  wisdom. 
Now  our  Blessed  Lord  will  not  have  our  faith  to  stand  in  the  wis- 
dom of  men,  but  in  the  power  of  God ;  for  only  the  Spirit  searcheth 
all  things,  yea,  the  deep  things  of  God,  and  no  flesh  shall  glory  in 
his  presence. 


A    SlIK.VF     OF    EmULEMS. 

jlLL  Bunyan's  writings,  whether  sermons,  or  allegories  and 
emblems,  are  a  wonderful  mixture  of  the  most  pungent 
warnings  and  the  sweetest  encouragements.  lie  had  the 
heart  of  a  lion  and  a  dove  together ;  the  Great-Heart  warrior,  the 
grave  and  tender  Evangelist,  the  loving  mother  and  the  playful 
little  child,  all  met  in  him ;  a  myriad-minded  Christian,  possessing 
the  experience  of  nil  saints,  the  kindest  sympathies  for  all  sinners, 
and  such  a  sense  and  knowledge  of  the  boundless  love  and  tender- 
ness of  Christ,  and  such  freedom  and  affectionate  desire  in  offering 
and  applying  the  sweetness  of  the  promises,  such  considerate 
gentleness  and  Avisdom  in  dealing  with  troubled  consciences,  as 
well  as  pungency  and  power  in  awakening  careless  and  stupid  souls, 


f'i' 


e4 


ja     LIFE    STUDY. 


that  hia  pages  are  an  inexhaustible  store  of  argument,  persuasion, 
consolation,  instruction,  rebuke,  encouragement,  terror  and  delight. 
How  exqixisitely  tender,  careful,  encouraging,  and  yet  truthful, 
scrutinizing  and  distinguishing,, are  his  delineations  of  such  Chris- 
tians as  Fearing,  Feeble-mind,  Little-faith,  Ready-to-halt,  Much- 
afraid,  and  others  of  a  similar  type.  He  could,  more  -vvisoly  and 
tenderly  than  most  men,  lift  up  the  hands  that  hung  down  and  the 
feeble  knees  ;  and  he  loved  to  make  straight  paths  for  the  feet,  lest 
that  which  is  lame  be  tui'ned  out  of  the  way.  Ah,  he  said  and 
felt,  let  it  rather  be  healed.  Like  his  beloved  Master,  the  bruised 
reed  he  would  not  break,  nor  quench  the  smoking  flax. 

Yet  he  looked  diligently  and  earnestly,  lest  any  man  should 
fail  of  the  grace  of  God.  His  "  Sighs  from  Hell,"  and  his  "  Heaven 
by  Footman,"  liis  "  Strait  Gate,"  and  his  "Come  and  welcome  to 
Jesus  Christ,"  his  "  Jerusalem  sinner  saved,"  his  "  BaiTen  Fig 
Tree,"  and  his  "  Discourse  on  Prayer,"  are  the  most  wonderful  combi- 
nations  of  all  the  qualities  of  an  effective  preacher ;  pathos,  plead- 
ings of  love,  warnings,  tUreatenings,  wrath,  entreaties,  weepings, 
compassions ;  the  very  heart  of  love  poured  out,  and  the  soul  that 
had  been  agonized,  revealing  its  own  experience  of  wounds,  and 
burnings,  and  healing  grace  and  consolation,  for  the  benefit  of 
others:  terror  and  pity,  mingled  with  playfulness,  humour,  wit, 
sarcasm,  logic  and  prayer;  the  Mount  of  fire  and  tempest,  and  the 
City  of  the  Living  God,  the  heavenly  Jerusalem,  moving  and 
flas}\ing  iu  contrasted  descriptions ;  all  this  and  more  ;  everywhere 
his  own  experience,  unborrowed,  unimitated,  the  gift  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  the  product  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  through  the  Word.  Bun- 
yan  could  say  with  Panl,  "I  preach,  warn,  teach  and  labour, 
striving  according  to  his  working,  which  worketh  in  me  mightily." 

Beginning  at  Jerusalem,  all  the  way  down  through  tho  ages 
of  Christianity,  to  London  and  New  York,  Bunyan's  delineations 
of  the  Christian  life  and  character  are  universal,  true  and  perfect ; 


A     LIFE    STUDY. 


6S 


exclusive  in  no  age,  but  belonging  to  all.  Tlie  reality  of  the  Chris- 
tian Pilgrimage  is  the  same,  yesterday,  to-day,  and  forever,  like  the 
Divine  Author  and  Finisher  of  our  faith,  and  in  every  generation 
the  characters  and  personages  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  and  the 
Holy  War  are  reproduced.  Bunyan's  knowledge  of  human  nature 
and  divine  grace,  appears  not  only  in  those  great  works,  but  e(iually 
in  the  multitude  of  illustrations,  parables,  applications  and  inter- 
pretations of  texts,  that  as  precious  gems,  and  little  exquisite  cabi- 
net pictures,  shine  here  and  there  in  all  his  writings.  In  them,  the 
Christian  Pilgrimage  is  as  a  grout  procession  of  witnesses  extending 
past  and  future,  beyond  vision,  winding  onward,  upward,  caught 
at  turns  of  rugged  depths  and  passes  afar  off;  as  from  a  moun- 
tain top,  may  be  seen  the  divisions  of  an  anuy,  marching  through 
the  vale  with  banners.  Here  are  sketches  of  grace  in  original 
characters,  vivid  as  fire,  so  that  the  figures  flash  forth  as  incarnations 
of  light  on  the  way  of  life,  reflections  of  the  loveliness  of  Christ, 

in  participated  gifts  of  his  Spirit,  clouds  of  -vitnesses,  scattered 
through  the  firmament  over  the  radiant  circle  of  the  sky. 


m 


"  And  giving  back  and  shedding  each  on  each, 
With  prodii^al  communion,  the  bright  hues, 
Which  from  the  unapparent  Fount  of  Glory 
They  had  imbibed  and  ceane  not  to  receive.*' 


For  such  is  the  Communion  of  saints  with  Clirist,  the  unapparent 
Saviour,  in  whom  believing,  though  now  they  see  him  not,  yet 
they  rejoice  with  joy  unspeakable  and  full  of  glorj-,  and  from  whom 
they  reflect  on  earth,  in  apparent  forms  and  colours,  the  light  they 
drink  in  and  live  upon,  transmitting  to  one  another  and  to  the 
world,  something  of  the  rac'Iancy  which  in  such  communion  with 
the  Invisible  Glory  they  receive. 

Thanks  be  to  God  for  such  an  exercise  of  human  genius,  and 
a  human  heart  with  all  its  fears  and  hopes  and  feelings  baptized  in 


M 


S3 


A     LIFE    STUDY 


divine  love,  presenting  in  such  attractive  forms  the  truths  of  Scrip- 
ture for  our  daily  walk. 

I>c't  ovo  lusting  thnnks  bo  thine, 

For  Huch  a  briglit  dluplay, 
As  rnalvus  a  world  of  darkncsB  shine, 

Wltli  buaras  of  cndlees  day. 
My  soul  rejoices  to  pursue 

Tlie  step-i  of  Him  1  love, 
'Till  glory  brcalis  upon  my  view, 
III  brigliter  worlds  abovi'. 

Most  of  the  pages  in  his  book  of  Emblems  are  made  up  of 
simple  objects,  and  the  lessons  he  draws  are  expressed  with  brevity, 
simplicity  and  terseness ;  as  for  example,  this  plain  cut  of  the  Ant 
be!-id(3  a  field  of  bearded  grain,  -w  hich  tells  its  own  story  as  prettily 
as  Watts'  rugged  stanza. 

Tlio  little  ants  for  one  loor  grain 

Labour  and  try  and  strive. 
But  we,  who  have  a  lieaveti  to  obtain, 

How  negligent  we  live  ! 

Go  to  the  Ant,  thou  sluggard,  consider  her  ways  and  be  wise  !  But 
how  can  man  be  such  a  fool,  exclaims  Bunyan,  as  to  need  such  a 
lesson '? 

Must  we  upon  tlio  Pismire  go  to  scliool, 

To  learn  of  her  in  summer  to  provide, 
Fi)i'  winter  next  ensuing?  Mun's  a  fool, 

Or  silly  nnts  would  not  be  m:ii!e  his  guide. 
But,  sluggard,  is  it  not  a  slianie  for  tlieo 

To  bo  ouldoiie  by  pismires  %  Prythee  heart 
Their  works  too,  will  thy  coiioemnatlon  be, 

Wiien  at  tlio  judgment  seat  thou  slmlt  appear. 
But  since  thy  God  dotli  bid  thee  to  her  go. 

Obey ;  lier  ways  consider,  and  be  wise. 
Tlie  Pinmires  will  inform  thee  wliat  to  do. 

And  set  the  way  to  life  before  thine  eyes. 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 

o 

Another  of  hia  emblems  i:^  on  the  wliipping  of  a  top,  tiie  cut 
being  merely  of  a  child's  top  and  a  whip  lying  beside  it,  a  farm 
house  and  a  windmill  in  the  background  of  the  picture.  And  what 
will  Bunyanmakeoutof  this?  A  lesson  that  might  have  been  one 
of  the  riddles  in  the  amiable  and  instructive  gossip  of  Christiana 
and  her  children.  The  top  moves  only  when  you  whip  it.  It  has 
no  life  nor  motion  in  itself,  but  the  boy  makes  it  whirl  with  a 
whipping,  and  as  long  as  he  whips,  so  long  it  skips  and  jumps,  but 
otherwise,  is  as  still  as  a  st.me.  Tliat  is  the  picture  of  a  man  that 
can  only  be  whipped  into  duty,  but  has  no  principle  of  love,  life, 
and  heavenly  diligence  in  his  heart. 

Our  Legalist  is  liku  this  nimble  top, 

Without  Ik  wjiip  lie  will  not  duly  do. 
Lut  Moses  whip  liiin,  he  will  skip  and  hop, 

Forbear  to  whip,  he'll  neither  sland  nor  go. 


Oa  another  page  we  have  the  cut  of  a  fat,  unwieldy  frog,  like 
one  of  those  tim-bellied  sinners  whom  Bunyau  described,  unavail- 
ingly  striving  to  got  into  tlie  Straight  Gate  without  mortification. 
This  frog  sitting  on  the  borders  of  her  native  pool,  and  croaking 
with  large  mouth,  and  a  cold  damp  skin,  is  Banyan's  picture  of  a 
hypocrite. 

The  hypocrite  is  like  unto  the  frog, 
As  like  as  is  the  puppy  to  the  dog. 


ii; 


es 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


A  very  droll  emblem  meets  us  a  few  pages  previous,  on  Moses 
and  his  Wife,  who  are  represented  in  tlie  picture,  liand  in  hand, 
like  a  couple  taking  each  oilier  out  for  a  dance.  Moses  lias  the 
horns  of  brightnuss  coming  out  of  his  head,  and  the  rod  in  his 
hand  ;  but  his  wife  is  as  black  as  a  coal.  In  the  back  ground  is  a 
palm  tree  on  one  side,  and  a  double  tent  on  the  other. 

Tlii«  Moses  was  n  fiiir  niul  odmely  man  • 
His  wifo  a  swartliy  Ktliiopi-uiine. 

Moses  signifies  the  Law ;  his  wife,  one  who  knows  no  way  of  eter- 
nal life  but  the  Law.  But  the  Law  cannot  give  life,  nor  make 
righteous  those  that  are  married  vmto  it,  no  more  than  Moses' 
brightness  could  change  the  hue  of  his  wife' s  skin. 

Tliercforo  as  Moses'  wif  j  came  swarthy  in, 
And  went  out  from  him  wUhout  change  of  skia, 
80  ho  tliat  doth  the  law  for  life  adore 
Shall  yet  by  it  be  left  ft  bhiekamore. 

In  another  picture,  Bunyan  has  drawn  a  crowing  hen,  cackling 
with  mouth  wide  open,  beside  the  barn,  and  just  inside  the  barn 
door  you  may  spy  a  new  laid  egg  on  a  hen's  nest.  This  is  an 
emblem  of  something  such  a  character  as  Talkative  in  the  Pilgrim's 
Progress,  or  of  those  who  proclaim  their  own  goodness. 

The  lion,  so  soon  as  she  an  egg  doth  lay, 
Spreads  wide  the  fame  of  doing  what  she  may. 
About  the  yard  a  cackling  she  doth  go 
To  tell  what  'twas  she  at  her  nest  did  do. 

Just  thus  It  is  with  pome  professing  men, 

If  they  do  aught  that's  good;  they're  like  our  hen, 

Cannot  but  cackle  on't  where'er  they  go, 

And  what  their  right  hand  doth  their  left  must  know. 


-^^t' 


o5**s 


A    LIFE    ST'JDV 

Humourously  satirical  is  another  similar  emblem  of  a  hon 
that  hasjust  laid  her  egg,  .vhich  shines  within  the  barn  door,  white 
fresh,  clean,  and  beautiful,  the  most  conspiuoous  object  in  the  en' 
gravmg.  Doth  this  symboli^ce  a  Christian?  The  now  laid  egg  is 
fair  and  sweet  in  appearance,  as  tlie  profession  of  a  convert  is 
bnght  and  holy.  But  tliere  is  no  real  life  without  grace,  even  as 
the  egg  18  yet  to  bo  made  a  chicken. 

The  oug's  no  cliick  by  fallinij  from  Uu;  ht-n, 
Nor  man  ii  Cliristian  'till  hv'»  born  uguln. 

The  Cluck  at  first  is  shut  up  in  the  shell  in  darkness,  and  just  so 
the  soul  IS  by  nature  prisoned  in  tlio  flesh,  knowing  nothing  but 
the  life  of  nature.  A.  when  tlie  shell  is  broken,  the  chick  poops 
forth  and  chirps,  so  when  the  flesh  decays,  the  soul  weeps  and  prays 
and  mounts  at  length  on  high.  This  reminds  us  of  the  couplet  of 
an  old  Poet : 

The  soul's  dark  coitngo  battfrud  and  betrayod, 
Lets  in  new  light  through  chinks  that  time  han  made. 

But  chickens,  Bunyan  says,  do  not  come  from  rotten  eggs,  nor  is 
a  hypocrite  a  saint  indeed,  but  only  a  rotten  egg  under  profession, 
which  cannot  warm  him  into  life. 

Some  eggs  bring  cotkatrices ;  nnd  some  mon 
Are  hatched  and  brooded  in  the  viper's  de»i ; 
Some  eggs  bring  wild-fowls,  and  some  men  thero  be- 
As  wild  ax  are  tho  wildest  fowls  that  flee. 
Some  eggs  bring  spiders,  and  some  men  appear 
More  venomed  than  tho  worst  of  spiders  aro. 


eo 


A  l:fs  l-tudy. 


Another  emblem  is  that  of  a  mole  in  the  ground,  hor  coat  so 
smooth  and  shining,  though  she  does  nothing  but  dig  in  the  dirt, 
the  earth  being  her  native  element.  Like  a  poor,  blind,  dark  sin- 
ner, working  away  from  the  light,  mining  bolow  the  surface  for 
wealth  that  he  cannot  caiTv  with  him. 


Poor  Hilly  Moll-,  tliat  thou  KliouM'ct   love  to  he, 
Wliero  thou  nor eun,  nor  moon,  nor  stars  can'st  Sfu  I 
But  oh  I  how  8illy'«  he,  u  ho  doth  not  carp, 
So  )ie  get  earth,  to  have  of  heaven  a  shun- 

Bunyan  says,  in  a.  similar  vein,  that  some  persons  are  very  sumpt- 
uous and  fashionable  in  their  clothing,  and  nice  and  coy  about 
tlunr  diet,  but  their  crying  souls  thoy  can  quiot  with  hog's-meat. 


A  flint  in  the  water  occasions  a  similar  vein  of  moralizing, 
that  often  is  like  Jacques'  melancholy  in  the  forest  of  Arden. 
The  flint  has  been  washed  by  a  living  crystal  stream,  time  out  of 
mind,  and  yet  abides  a  flint  as  it  was  before  ever  the  water  touched 
it. 

Its  hardnea.s  U  not  in  the  least  ab-ated, 
'Tis  not  at  all  by  water  penetrated. 

It  holds  also  a  fiery  nature  in  its  hardness,  retaining  that  fire,  if 
crossed,  even  imder  water.  Strike  it  with  its  opposite,  and  in  your 
very  face  it  will  spit  fire. 

This  flint  an  emblem  is  of  all  that  lie 

Under  the  Word  like  stonea  until  they  die  ; 

Its  crystal  streams  have  not  their  natarcs  changed, 

They  are  not  from  their  last«  by  grace  estranged. 


^    LIFE    STUDY 


ei 


There  .s  an  instructive  emblem  of  the  lark  and  the  fowler  • 
a  inaa  w,th  h.  net,  aud  a  glass  mirror  bosido  it,  reflecting  the  sun' 
and  daz^hnginits  brightness.  The  silly  lark,  turning  fn.. a  th.: 
-m  and  her  singing,  is  lured  to  the  shining  nnrror.  It  is  the  .in- 
fol  «ouI,  caught  by  the  bright  glitter  of  this  world  and  its  pleasures 
and  taken  captive  by  Satan  at  his  will. 

Thou  simple  bird,  what  mnkc  theo  hero  to  pl„y  f 

1-ook  I  there's  the  fowlor,  prythoo  como  away  • 

I>oHt  r,ot  behold  tho  uvi  ?  L„„k  when  'tis  .;  read 

Venture  a  little  furthir,  thou  urt  dt-ad. 

n:rd,  if  thou  nrt.so  much  for  dazzling  light, 
I^ookl  there's  the  Hunabovo  the.;  dart  upright, 
'i'liy  nature  ig  to  noar  up  to  tlio  Hky, 
Why  wilt  thou  then  como  down  to  the  earth  and  die  » 
Remember  that  thy  song  is  1„  thy  rl.o, 
>'"tinthyfall.    Ka.th'snotthyl'aradiHo. 
Keep  up  aloft  then  ;  let  thy  circuits  be, 
Above,  where  birds  from  fowlern'  nets  nro  froo. 

^  last  Stanza  is  very  beautiful.     Nothing  can  be  sweeter  than 
^^touchzng  lesson,  2len..,er  that  tluj  son,  u  in  th,  ri.e,  not  in  th, 


l^re  are  some  stanzas  on  the  picture  of  a  snail  traveling  in 
ftegarfen,  wrnten  with  a  grave,  quiet,  thoughtful  simplicity!" 
quamtoess,  illustrating  the  texts  that  throw  everything  in  ottr  pil- 
g^nage  upon  the  perseverance  of  our  faith,  whether  little  or  much 
qinct  or  slow.  Ye  are  secure,  if  ye  hold  fast  the  beginning  oi 
yonr  confidence   steadfast  unto  the  end.     Daily  diUgence  maketh 


OS 


A    l^U'S    UTUDY. 


suro,  but  lio  tliat  dosiiieoth  littlo  gains  or  Iohsoh,  1)y  littlo  und  l)j  little 
.shuU  liu  full. 

Him  (.'ocH  hilt  Hoftly,  jcl  kIic  Koi'tli  Hiiii' ; 

Bliu  HluinblL'H  lint,  nH  Htroiim'r  crfiiHuvM  do  ; 
Hit  jouriioy'ii  nliortcr,  ho  iiIiu  in  .y  ciriluns 

Bfttur  tl.aii  tiny  wliiuli  do  niucb  furtliur  i,<>. 

Sho  mnkcii  no  nolio,  Init  pflly  Ktzitli  on 
Tliu  llowcr  or  licrt)  iiiipoliili'd   for  In:!-  looi!  ; 

Tlio  which  Kill'  quietly  dolli  ffcd  Upon, 
Whilo  othtTH  run  u  mid  tsluri-,  but  fiml  no  Kotid. 

So  tliovo  aro  luiniblo  soiila  that  iiiako  noithor  parado  nor  clatter, 
nor  draw  notiie  by  any  Bonsational  gallop,  who  yut  aro  earnostly 
thirsting  for  Christ,  and  really  floring  from  -wrath,  Hoeing  as  with 
Mings,  though  they  boeni  only  to  crawl,  whilo  othora  pranco  as  on 
war-stt'fds.  Those  liuniblo  souls  attain  thoir  end  most  quickly, 
though  what  they  soolc  is  out  of  sight  and  limit,  and  not  to  be  come 
it  by  might  of  natural  power  or  passion,  or  ransom  of  great  riches. 

Ono  net  of  faith  dollx  brlni;  them  to  tlmt  flower, 

They  BO  lor({  for,  that  thoy  may  cat  and  livu ; 
Which  to  attain  Is  not  in  other's  power 

Thongh  for  it  a  king's  iani»om  they  would  give. 

Then  let  none  faint,  nor  be  at  all  dismayed. 
That  life  by  Ciirlst  do  seek  ;  they  shall  not  fail 

To  have  it ;  let  them  nothing  bo  afraid ; 
Tlio  herb  und  flower  are  eaten  by  the  ena;!. 


A  man  riding  on  horseback  in  a  gallop  like  John  Gilpin's, 
leads  I'unyan  into  various  meditative  characteristic  sketches  of 
the   various   gaits   of  sinners  riding  j)ost  to  hell.     One  rides  very 


A    l:fk  study. 


en 


Hiij^oly,  afFooting  tlio  ji^rr.vost  inoJ»»,  anothor  tantivy  or  full  trot; 
aiiutlior  as  in  a  stooplo  chaso,  full  speed  over  hodgo,  ditch,  hojf,  no 
mattur  what;  anothor  iip-hill  or  down,  heodloss,  houdlong,  as  if 
lio  would  broak  his  nock,  and  cures  uot. 

Hut  I'Vory  liorNO  liitx  lii«  ('Hpcciiil  ({iiUlvr, 
Anil  by  lilH  goiiii;  you  miiy  know  tlio  rldiT 

And  80  in  the  Christian  life,  on  foot  or  on  lior8ol)ack,  each  one's 
gait  murks  his  spirit.  Somo  aro  climbing  on  liands  and  knees,  as 
on  tho  Hill  Difficulty ;  eomo  walking  quietly,  and  commoncing 
gravely,  as  Christian  and  Ilopoful  at  poucoful  intervals  ;  some  run- 
ning as  for  their  life  ;  soaie  riding  as  on  war-stoods.  Ono  of  tho 
most  vivid  and  instructive  of  all  the  pictures  of  this  doscription,  is 
in  the  Holy  War,  in  that  dread  winter  of  stonnand  desertion,  wlion 
the  communion  of  the  soul  with  Christ  Imd  bec^n  broken  up  by 
lukewarmness,  and  the  grieving  of  the  Spirit,  and  Mansoul  hud 
sent  many  messages,  but  could  got  no  token.  The  difficulty  of 
prayer  in  the  endeavor  to  get  back  to  God,  after  a  season  of  such 
neglect  and  departure,  is  illustrated  by  a  hoiseraan  flying  alono 
through  the  snow  storm,  thick,  blinding,  overwhelming ;  the  mail- 
bag  of  letters  for  the  kitig  strapped  to  his  waist,  liis  grasp  almost 
frozen  in  the  reins,  liis  body  bonding  forward  over  the  neck  of  his 
struggling  horse,  no  sign  of  any  otlier  traveller  coming  or  gning, 
no  help,  no  station,  a  bleak,  tempestuous,  mountain  road  to  contpier. 
But  the  rider  lives,  and  struggles  on,  and  while  there  is  life  there 
is  hope.  He  will  reach  the  King's  court  once  more  ;  he  will  get 
his  answer. 

"  I  say  unto  you,  though  he  will  not  rise  and  give  him  because 
he  is  h's  friend,  yet  because  of  his  importunity  he  will  arise  and 
give  him  as  many  as  he  needeth." 


•t"  V   W           ~    f 

,%       ^    '  '     ^  J  .: 

?fev.;.f: 

64 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


The  last,  but  one,  in  these  snatches  of  illuotration,  and  of 
thought,  developing  the  trutlis  of  the  Gospel,  and  Bunyan's  views 
of  Life  and  time  passing  into  Eternity,  consists  of  the  engraving, 
simply  of  an  open  ledger,  or  account-book,  lying  on  a  table,  the 
fair,  white  pages  not  yet  blotted  with  a  single  record,  or  ink-mark. 
You  may  write  Avhat  you  please  there.  A  bystander  may  catch  up 
the  pen  and  write ;  may  write  his  own  name  and  opinions,  or  the 
troll  of  some  foolish  song  running  in  his  fancy.  A  dispossest  devil 
roaming  through  dry  places,  seeking  rest,  and  finding  none,  may 
write,  and  having  written,  may  claim  possession.  For  thus  care- 
lessly do  men  leave  open  and  unguarded  the  page  of  life  and 
character,  the  Book  that  is  to  be  read  at  the  judgment. 

Most  men  are  so  thoughtless  of  eternity,  and  of  the  character 
they  are  daily  forming,  the  account  that  is  being  filled  up,  the 
influences  that  are  streaming  upon  them,  the  thoughts  and  opin- 
ions registered,  the  visitors  and  habits  entertained,  that  their  minds 
are  like  the  blank  page  of  a  subscription-book,  where  every  man  is 
at  liberty  to  write  his  name,  and  affix  his  claim  to  just  as  much 
stock  in  the  concern  as  ho  has  the  means,  or  the  will,  or  the  fancy 
to  command,  and  it  is  his. 

Some  Bonis  uro  like  unto  this  blank  or  sheet, 

Though  not  in  whiteness.    The  next  man  they  meet, 

Bo  what  ho  will,  a  gooil  mnn,  or  deluder, 

A  knave  or  fool,  tlic  dangerous  intruder 

May  write  thereon  to  causae  that  man  to  err 

In  doctrine,  or  in  \\i  ,  v  ith  blot  and  blurr : 

Xor  will  that  soul  conceal  wherein  it  Bwervi's', 

IJut  show  Itself  to  each  one  that  observes. 

A  reading  man  may  know  who  was  the  writer, 

And  by  the  hellish  nonsense  the  inditer. 

But  not  always  is  the  page  possessed  by  hellish  nonsense. 
Bunyan's  own  heart  was  written  over  anew,  by  the  Spirit  and  the 
Word,  and  all  the  pages  of  his  life  were  thenceforward  filled  with 
the  fair  characters  of  Heaven,  and  he  was  one  of  those  heavenly 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


e-6 


epistles,  known  and  read  of  all  men,  manifestly  declared  to  bo  the 
epistle  of  Christ,  written  not  with  ink,  but  with  the  Spirit  of  the 
living  God,  And  so  may  each  man  choose  whether  God  shall 
write,  or  Satan. 


3nse. 

the 

I  with 

^enly 


For  the  owner  of  this  fair  page  can  make  his  own  record  jnst 
as  he  pleases.  He  can  keep  off  whom  and  what  he  pleases.  He 
can  watch  over  tlie  register  both  of  names  and  influences.  Keep 
thy  heart  with  all  diligence,  for  into  it  go  the  records  and  out  of  it 
the  issues,  that  make  up  the  account  of  death  or  life.  Each  now  day 
begins  a  new  fair  page.  To-day,  the  name  of  Jesus  and  th^  record 
of  his  love  may  be,  i^  you  please,  the  very  first  name  and  register. 
And  if  tha^fc  be  the  first,  Satan  will  hardly  dare  to  follow  that.  H 
that  be  the  first,  with  prayer  for  Christ's  grace,  every  after-record 
of  that  page  will  respect  it,  will  take  character  according  to  it. 

Let  it  then  be  so  begun,  and  so  continued,  and  one  fair  page 
filled  up  this  day,  with  Christ.  To-day,  Lord,  take  thou  my  heart, 
and  fill  its  open  pages ;  my  life,  and  write  up  its  thoughts,  feelings, 
actings,  and  account,  with  thy  Word,  tliy  Grace,  and  thy  most 
precious  blood.  Then,  when  the  judgment  comes,  and  the  thoughts 
of  all  hearts  are  revealed,  and  the  dead  are  judged  out  of  the 
things  written  in  the  books,  thou  wilt  read  thine  own  name  to  tlie 
universe,  and  show  thine  own  blood  there,  and  all  shall  be  can- 
celled, and  all  made  white  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb. 


03 


A    LIFE    STUDY ^ 


And  now  this  little  book  of  emblems  closes  with  a  flame  of 
fire.  It  ia  the  picture  of  an  open  blazing  furnace  as  in  the  side 
of  a  hill,  where  the  flames  are  bursting  forth  with  great  volume 
and  fury,  and  have  thrown  down,  and  are  enveloping  a  careless 
straggler  who  has  ventured  too  near.  While  he  is  crying  out  for 
help,  others  stand  away  and  laugh  at  him.  They  call  him  fool ;  say 
it  is  delirium  tremens,  or  only  an  excited  imagination ;  affirm  that 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  fire,  but  only  the  fancy  of  it ;  and  as  to 
burnings  ia  another  world,  they  are  only  the  phantoms  of  diseased 
brains,  or  the  fictions  of  priests,  intending  thereby  to  rule  men's 
souls  and  consciences  with  fear.  They  say  that  men's  happiness 
of  life  and  peace  of  mind,  is  all  tc  .mented'  out  of  them  by  such 
bugbears,  and  that  the  whole  story  of  hell  and  sin,  is  an  ugly 
Tartaren  fable,  that  men  are  fools  to  give  heed  to.  Let  them  dis- 
miss it  from  their  minds,  and  walk  at  liberty.  But  while  they 
promise  them  liberty,  they  themselves  are  the  servants  of  corrup- 
tion ;  ant'  the  wages  of  sin  is  death,  which  no  man  can  escape, 
neither  the  sia  nor  the  death,  but  only  through  the  mercy  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  unto  eternal  life. 

Who  falls  into  the  fire  shall  bum  with  heat, 
While  those  remote  seem  from  it  to  retreat, 
Yea,  while  those  in  it  cry  out,  oh,  I  burn  1 
Some  further  off,  those  cries  to  laughter  turn. 

While  some  tormented,  are  In  hell  for  sin, 
On  earth,  some  greatly  do  delight  therein, 
Yea,  while  some  make  it  echo  with  their  cry. 
Others  count  it  a  fable  aud  a  lie. 


In  his  "  Caution  to  stir  up  the  soul,"  to  watch  against  sin, 
Bunyan  closes  with  some  pregnant  stanzas,  such  as  Sir  John 
Davies,  or  Donne,  or  the  grave  and  profound  genius  of  the  greatest 
poets  of  the  seventeenth  century,  might  have  written. 


j4  LIFE    STUDY 

Sin  is  the  Uvlng  worm,  the  lasting  fire, 
Hell  soon  would  lose  its  heat,  could  Sin  expire  ; 
One  siolbss  with  infemals  might  do  well, 
But  Sin  would  make  a  very  heaven  a  hell. 

Watch,  therefore,  keep  this  giant  out  of  door, 
Lest  it  get  In,  and  never  leave  thee  more. 

PooU  make  a  mock  at  Sin,  will  not  believe 
It  carries  euch  a  dagger  in  its  sleeve ; 
They  know  not  that  it  is  the  very  spell 
Of  Sin,  to  make  men  laugh  themselves  to  hell. 
Release,  help,  freedom  from  it,  none  can  give, 
But  even  He  by  whom  we  breathe  and  live, 

Now  may  the  God  that  is  above. 
That  hath  for  sinners  so  much  love. 
These  lines  so  help  thee  to  improve. 
That  he  to  him  thy  heart  may  move. 

Keep  thee  from  outw.ird  enemies, 

Help  thee  all  Tempters  to  despise, 
Deliver  thee  from  flends  infernal, 
-Viul  brin.f,  thee  safe  to  life  eternal! 


!:1| 


GOTTHOLD'S  EMBLEMS.  \ 


Palpitation  op  the  Heabt. 
HE  conversation,  in  a  company,  happening  to  turn 
upon  the  beating  and  motion  of  the  heart  in  the 
human  body,  great  admiration  was  expressed  at  the 
power  and  wisdom  with  which  tlie  Creator  has  so 
contrived  these,  as  to  keep  the  blood  in  circulation, 
and  impregnate  it  with  vital  power,  assimilating  the 
heart,  as  one  of  the  company  obsen'ed,  to  the  great  ma- 
chines which,  through  secret  pipes,  dibtribute  water  over  a  whole 
city.  Gotthold  observed :  Let  this  remind  us  of  the  expression 
which  the  Holy  Spirit  has  twice  used  respecting  David,  namely, 
that  his  heart  smote  him,  upon  one  occasion,  wt  ^n,  in  the  cave,  he 
cut  off  the  sliirt  of  Saul's  robe ;  and  upon  another,  after  he  had 
numbered  the  people.  And  let  us  supplicate  as  a  grace  from  God, 
that,  whenever  we  are  tempted,  by  imprudence  or  infirmity,  to  en- 
ter on  any  doubtful  or  dangerous  course,  our  heart  may  in  the 
same  way  beat  and  palpitate,  to  warn  us  of  our  danger  ;  or  that, 
if  we  have  already  been  misled,  and  are  fallen  into  sin,  it  may 
give  us  no  rest,  but  smite  and  compel  us,  till,  with  true  repentance, 
we  fly  to  the  cross  of  Christ,  and  find  rest  for  it  in  Him.  Not 
without  reason  do  I  call  such  palpitation  a  grace  of  God ;  for,  in 
fact,  it  is  nothing  else  but  Christ  and  His  Spirit  knocking  at  the 


A    LIFS    STUDY. 


door  of  our  heart,  either  to  dinsuade  us  from  sinning,  or  induce  ua 
to  repent  of  having  sinned.  In  the  body,  the  stoppage  of  the 
heart's  beating  indicates  the  presence  of  death ;  and,  even  so,  he 
who  no  longer  feels  palpitation  in  his  conscience,  is,  even  though 
living,  spiritually  dead. 


Second  Meditation  on  the  Heakt. 
N  the  case  of  the  criminal  who  has  long  stifled  his 
conscience,  the  heartbeats  violently  when  he  labors 
under  apprehension  or  anxiety.  We  are  told  of 
an  ingenious  judge,  who,  as  an  easy  and  expeditious 
way  of  detecting  a  murderer  among  a  number  of  per- 
sons who  were  suspected,  ordered  them  all  to  stand 
round  liim  in  a  circle,  and  uncover  their  bosoms.  He 
then  proceeded  to  lay  his  hand  upon  each  in  succession  over  the 
region  of  the  heart,  and  discovered  the  perpetrator  by  the  violence 
of  the  palpitation. 

Here  Gotthold  paused  ;  but  a  learned  man,  who  was  present, 
took  up  the  word,  and  said  that  he  had  recently  met  with  a  very 
beautiful  story,  which  was  highly  api^ropriate  to  the  subject  of 
conversation;  and  that,  if  it  was  tl- J  company's  pleasure,  he  would 
briefly  relate  it.  It  happened  in  Switzerland,  about  one  hundred 
and  twenty  years  age,  that  a  worthy  peasant  was  sentenced  to  the 
flames  for  adherence  to  the  truth  of  the  gospel.  After  many  ad- 
mirable proofs  of  constancy  and  fortitude  during  his  confinement, 
he,  60  to  speak,  bequeathed  to  posterity  a  most  remarkable  one 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


immediately  before  his  death.    When  bound,    and  ready  to  be 
thrown  into  the  fire,  he  craved  permission  to  speak  once  more  to 
the  judge,  who,  according  to  the  Swiss  custom,  was  required  to  be 
also    present  at  the  execution.    After    repeatedly    refusing,   the 
judge  at  last  came  fornrard,  when  the  peasant  addressed  him  thus : 
You  have  this  day  condemned  me  to  death.     Now,  I  freely  admit 
that  I  am  a  poor  sinner,  but  positively  deny  tliat  I  am  a  heretic, 
because  from  my  heart  I  believe  and  confess  aU  that  is  contained 
in  the  Apostles'  Creed  (wlilch  he  thereupon  repeated  from  beginning 
to  end).     Now,  then,  sir,  he  proceeded  to  say,  I  have  but  one  last 
request  to  make ;  which  is,  that  you  wiU  approach  and  place  your 
hand  first  upon  my  breast,  and  then  uponyourown,  and  afterwards 
fi-ankly  and   truthfuUy  declare,  before  this  assembled  multitude, 
which  of  the  two,   mine  or  yours,  is  beating  most  violently  with 
fear  and  anxiety.     For  my  part,  I  quit  the  world  with  alacrity  and 
joy,  to  go  and  be  with  Christ,  in  whom  I  have  always  believed; 
what  your  feelings  are  at  this  moment  is  best  known  to  yourself. 
The  judge  could  make  no  answer,  and  commanded  them  instantly 
to  light  the  pile.     It  was  evident,  however,  from  his  looks,  that  he 
was  more  afraid  than  the  martyr. 

Gotthold  offered  the  thanks  of  the  company  to  the  speaker  for 
his  beautiful  stoiy,  with  which,  he  said,  he  had  not  met  in  any  of 
the  martyrologies,  and  added:  Let  us,  therefore,  earnestly  desire 
and  continually  pray,  in  the  name  of  Christ,  to  God,  graciously  to 
give  to  us  at  our  death  an  equaUv  cahn,  happy,  and  fearless  heart. 


ill 

I 

I, 


m 


A     LIFE    STUDY. 


Books  or  Meit. 
STUDENT  of  theology  complained  one  day  that 
he  was  too  poor  to  procure  a  sufficient  supply  of 
books;  and  yet,  according  to  his  opinion,  a  study 
without  books  was  like  a  druggist's  shop,  in  which 
the  unstopped  phials  and  empty  boxes  can  furnish  no 
medicine  for  the  cure  of  disease.  Gotthold  replied: 
There  is  some  truth  in  what  you  say ;  but,  my  good  sir, 
do  not  imagine  that  a  multitude  of  books  is  the  only  source  from 
which  it  is  pessible  to  derive  that  erudition  and  mental  culture 
which  are  acceptable  in  the  sight  of  God.  In  fact,  tlioy  often  do 
more  harm  than  good.  It  is  possible  to  dry  up  a  vast  stream,  by 
draining  ofif  its  waters  into  little  currents  ;  and  this  is  what  hap- 
pens to  the  mind  which  is  prompted  by  curiosity  or  the  hope  of 
fame  to  road  m\ich,  and  toil  through  many  books,  but  which  gains 
only  the  boast  of  having  read  them;  at  the  same  time  losing  its 
humility  and  godliness.  How  foolish,  too,  is  the  man  who  sets  up 
a  number  of  costly  volumes,  like  superfluous  furniture,  for  mere 
ornamer  t,  and  is  far  more  careful  to  keep  thera  from  contracting  a 
single  spot  of  ink  than  to  use  them  as  the  means  of  instructing  his 
ignorance,  and  correcting  his  faults.  Compared  with  fools  like 
these,  you  ought  to  be  considered  fortunate .  Better  a  man  without 
books  than  books  without  a  man.  Select  for  yourself  one  or  two 
of  superior  excellence,  and  lay  thera  not  aside,  until  it  is  observable 
in  both  you  and  them  that  they  have  been  well  used.  That  copy 
of  an  old  author,  which  a  pious  lady  had  read  so  often,  and  be- 
dewed so  plentifully  with  hor  toars,  that  the  pages  had  grown  thin 
and  sallow,  was  worth  all  the  libraries  of  all  hypoorites  and  nominal 
Christians  collected  into  one.  Be  less  concerned,  tlierefore,  about 
the  number  of  books  you  read,  and  more  about  the  good  use  you 
make  of  them. 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


Thk   Stuanok   Bargain. 

>NCE  there  lived,  in  a  well-kno-wn  city,  two  mer- 
chants— one  of  them  a  skilful  arithmetician,  and 
generally  an  able  man  ;  the  other,  inoxporieucod  in 
figures,  and  by  no  moans  a  match  for  the  former 
in  talent.  They  made  the  following  bargain :  The 
sold  a  horso  to  the  second ;  but  instead  of  fixing  a 
^4^;^  definite  sum  of  money  as  the  price,  they  agreed  that  it 
should  be  regulated  by  thirty-two  nails  M'ith  which  the  four  shoes 
weref  .  utoned  to  the  animal's  hoofs,  and  should  bo  paid  in  millet — 
one  grain  being  given  for  the  first  nail,  two  for  tho  second,  four  for 
the  third,  eight  for  the  fourth,  and  so  on ;  that  is,  doubling  tlio 
number  at  every  nail.  The  buyer  was  at  first  delighted  at  pur- 
chasing a  fine  charger  for  what  he  fancied  a  very  moderate  price ; 
but,  when  the  account  came  to  be  settled,  he  found  that  the  quantity 
of  grain  which,  by  the  tonus  of  the  agreement,  he  was  requiretl  to 
pay,  was  enormous.  In  fact  he  would  have  been  reduced  to  beg- 
gary, if  some  sensible  friends  had  not  interposed,  and  procured  f 
dissolution  of  the  bargain.  Gotthold,  who  heard  the  story,  observed  : 
Well  does  it  exemplify  the  wiles  of  Satan.  By  promising  merry 
hours  and  temporal  gain,  he  persuades  and  seduces  man  at  first  into 
what  he  calls  venial  faults,  and  labors  to  keep  him  in  these  until 
they  have  grown  into  a  habit.  Afterwards  he  advances  by  geomet- 
rical progression.  Sin  grows  from  sin,  and  one  transgression  fol- 
lows another,  the  new  always  being  the  double  of  the  old ;  and  so 
the  increase  proceeds,  until  at  last  the  base  pleasure  which  has 
been  bought,  can  be  paid  for  only  with  that  which  is  above  all 
price,  namely,  the  immortal  soul ;  unless,  indeed,  God  mercifully 
interpose  in  time,  with  his  Holy  Spirit.  It  is  therefore  best  to 
keep  one's  self  aloof,  in  every  way,  from  Satan  and  his  concerns, 
and  to  regard  no  sin  as  venial  and  small. 


HE  law  which  iindoriios  the  analogies  between  the  external 
and  invisible  worlds,  may  never  bo  comprehended  until 
the  mysterious  connection  of  spirit  and  matter  is  success- 
fully explored ;  yet  that  these  analogies  exi.st,  and  that  they  are 
not  the  children  of  fancy,  but  indicators  of  an  essential  agreement, 
and  a  native  though  indefinable  oneness,  must  be  the  con\nction  of 
every  thoughtful  and  unbiassed  mind.  The  two  worlds,  that  of 
material  nature,  and  that  of  sinrituallife,  are  creatures  of  the  same 
Maker,  and  we  might  expect  that  some  common  principles  or  ideas 
might  show  their  common  origin ;  that  the  impressions  of  truth  and 
wisdom  found  in  the  sphere  of  mind  and  conscience  would  have 
tlieir  counterparts,  modified  only  by  the  necessities  of  the  case,  in 
tlie  sphere  of  matter  and  material  forces.  The  abundant  and  pre- 
vailing use  of  these  analogies  in  the  Scriptures  of  God,  appears, 
we  think,  not  simply  because  they  form  an  attractive  method  of  in- 
culcating truth,  but  also  because  of  the  deep  reality  which  lies  at 
their  basis.  Especially  is  this  apparent,  when  the  analogies  stand 
{orth,  not  as  verbal  allusions  or  illustrations,  but  as  >'isible  s^'mbols 
before  the  instructed  eye.  Indeed  we  might  atgue  that  the  very 
fact  that  through  these  analogies  the  inculcation  of  truth  is  made 
attractive,  proves  a  bottom  reality  of  connection  between  the  mem- 
IwpTS  of  the  analogy. 

At  the  very  first  i)age  of  human   history,  we  see  the  cherubim 


A  LIFE  STUDY. 


mid  flaming  sword,  a  grand  and  iniprosHivo  symbol  to  tho  panmts 
of  our  rncv,  powerful  in  its  nuuining  to  thoni,  douhtloss,  as  a  vory 
liiblo  of  Hitiritual  truth,  howovcT  that  meaning  may  bo  obscurrd  to 
UH  ill  tlit'HO  davH  of  now  nynibols  indicating  now  facts.  What  was 
tho  rainb«»w  to  Noali,  and  what  ought  it  to  bo  to  each  of  us?  Sim- 
ply tho  rt'lUiction  and  refraction  of  tho  difforont  rays  of  tho  sun's 
light  from  tlio  drops  of  •\vator  in  tho  shower  ?  Is  this  sciontific  analy- 
M8  exhaustivo  of  tho  rainbow  1*  Is  thoro  no  soH/in  tho  rainbow ? 
no  doop  spiritual  connoction,  of  which  tho  outward  scientific  defi- 
nition has  no  cognizance  ?  Is  thoro  not  a  great  reality  in  tho  "  rain- 
bow round  about  tho  throne,"  witli  which  every  iris  formed  from 
sun  and  rain  stands  everlastingly  conjoined  ?  The  sacrificial  victim 
and  its  altar  from  tlio  first  days  of  sin  had  then  symbolic  significance, 
in  accordance  with  wliich  tho  suffering  Saviour  is  styled  tho  Lamb 
of  God.  Surely  that  was  no  mcro  conventional  form  by  which 
Abram  divided  tho  licifor,  tho  ram  and  tho  she-goat,  placing  tho 
parts  asunder,  thnmgh  ivliicli  the  lamp  of  fii'o  and  tho  smoking 
fumaco  passed  in  the  deep  darkness  of  tho  night.  If  thoro  was 
not  profound  meaning  there,  then  there  was  child's  play. 

On  every  page  of  tho  Bible,  wo  find  kindred  exhibitions  of 
fiymbolic  tokens  as  divino  instructors  for  our  humanity.  Tho  Jt^wish 
dispensation,  in  its  tabornaclo  with  its  priesthood  and  ritual,  is  re- 
plete with  these  analogies,  grouped  in  intricate  interlacing,  that 
suggest  even  to  those  most  ignorant  of  their  meaning,  a  mar\'ellous 
alliance  between  the  seen  and  unseen,  the  material  and  spiritual. 
The  prophets  have  handed  to  them,  as  it  were,  from  hcaven,em- 
blem  after  emblem, to  give  either  pictorially  or  verbally  to  the  p(>o- 
ple  to  whom  they  minister.  And,  when  we  come  to  the  New  Testa- 
ment, we  find  the  body  of  Christ  with  its  Head  and  its  members 
accurately  and  minutely  described,  where  the  Church  is  signified, 
the  olive  tree  and  the  wild  olive,  standing  for  the  Jewish  and  Gen- 
tile churches,  and  all  the  parts  of  a  buildiug,represeuting  the  spirit- 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


ual  pooplo  of  God.  Tho  l<>av«'n,  tho  hcchI,  ihn  toinplo,  tlm  riico,  llio 
armour,  tho  houscliold,  tlio  NviMltliiijjf,  tho  huiumt,  ujuI  mores  nl' 
otJicr  fuiiiiUar  ohjocts,  aro  orouglit  conNtimlly  bi-loro  us  as  tli(<  cx- 
ponuntii  of  the  most  important  uml  rucomlito  truths  of  tlio  unseen 
worM,  and  tho  uso  of  hoad,  liands,  hoart,  and  other  portions  of  tho 
bodily  framo  as  indicating  attributes  of  tho  soul,  aro  common  botli 
to  Scripture  and  universal  liuman  usage. 

No  m(!ro  chanco-likonosscan  account  for  all  this.  Tlio  prolilem 
is  too  many-sidod  to  bo  Holvod  by  tho  notion  of  hap-ha/ard.  A  de- 
8ignod  resemblance  is  tho  loust  wo  can  assume,  and  this  rually  iiu- 
plios  a  connation.  Men  have  often  given  tho  reins  to  a  wild  fancy 
and  assorted  analogies  whore  nono  existed,  which  reckless  conduct 
has  led  tho  Bobor-mindod  to  lose  their  e([uilibriuTu,  and  fall  back 
into  a  dogged  skepticism  on  tho  whole  subject,  while  they  stigma- 
tize all  figurative  language  as  more  poetry,  by  which  they  moan 
something  ditferont  from,  if  not  antagonistic  to  truth. 

Now  while  we  condemn  all  unreasonable  vagaries  of  tho  imagin- 
ative powers,  lot  us  reverently  hold  to  the  courses  of  analogy  re- 
vealed from  God.  Those  we  may  saftsly  pursue.  More  than  that 
we  may  assume  thai  the  material  emblem  will  best  present  and  im- 
press the  spiritual  truth,  giving  a  truer  notion  than  what  we  call 
exact  philosophic  language  could  convoy.  For,  after  all,  our  philo- 
sophic language  has  to  be  translated  by  the  mind  into  this  language 
of  material  analogy,  before  it  can  be  comprehended  and  become 
anything  T.ioro  than  a  dead  X.  Y.  Z.  Abstract  language  is  exact, 
only  because  it  has  no  life.  It  is  exact,  aa  it  will  hot  move  and 
alter.  You  can  put  it  away  and  it  will  keep,  but  when  you  take  it 
out,  you  must  clothe  the  skeleton  with  flesh  and  blood  before  you 
have  a  living  being.  It  is  not  exact,  as  representing  the  unseen 
truth.  TJuit  cannot  be  represented  until  you  have  reached  the 
material  analogue.  A  direct  view  of  the  spiritual  world  through 
language  is  impossible.     The  vision  rests  perforce  upon  the  material 


Ea 


A    LIFE    STUDY. 


representations,  while   a  transcendant   action  of  the   mind  makes 
the  spiritual  transfer. 

A  notable  instance  of  this  truth  is  in  the  universal  notion  of 
God  in  human  form,  or,  if  not  in  human  form,  in  form  lower  than 
human.  No  one  ever  yet  thought  of  God  except  as  in  the  likeness 
of  a  material  object.  The  theophanies  of  the  Old  Testament  were 
not  degradations  of  the  Godhead,  but  truthful  representations  of 
God,  as  ■was  the  person  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

To  treat,  therefore,  the  highest  spiritual  subjects  emblematically 
is  to  treat  them  in  a  natural  way,  and  in  a  way  nearer  to  the  real- 
ity than  by  philosophic  statement.  Yet  we  grant  that  the  exuberance 
of  life  in  the  emblem  or  symbol,  makes  it  a  more  readily  misused 
instructor  than  the  lifeless  formula  of  philosophy.  The  very  quality 
which  gives  it  power,  makes  it  dangerous  to  the  careless.  The 
leading  of  God's  word,  the  careful  tracing  of  personal  experience, 
and  the  due  regard  to  modifying  truths,  are  necessary  elements  in 
a  judicious  and  righteous  use  of  emblematic  teaching,  and  (as  we 
have  seen)  all  teaching  must  be  emblematic  at  the  last. 

Archbishop  Usher's  secretary,  Francis  Quarles,  will  always 
stand  prominently  among  the  men  of  English  tongue,  as  the  para- 
gon of  emblematic  teachers.  Though  a  loyalist  adherent  of 
Charles  I.,  he  wrote  like  a  Puritan,  and  hence  his  works  went  into 
eclipse  under  the  grossness  of  the  Eestoration.  Later  generations 
brought  Quarles  out  of  the  cottages  of  the  peasantry,  where  he 
had  been  preserved,  and  true  piety  has  ever  found  in  his  "  Divine 
Emblems,"  a  wholesome  and  well  flavoured  fe  ist.  He  drew  from 
quaint  and  holy  writers  before  him,  but  he  had  the  soul  of  a  poet 
and  a  saint  to  infuse  his  own  individuality  into  all  the  material  he 
used,  and  though  we  may  find  extravagancies  both  in  his  poems 
and  in  his  prints  (which  should  never  be  dissevered),  his  stream  of 
truth  is  80  full  and  broad,  that  we  are  not  misled  by  these  eddies 
of  thought  along  the  bank.     With  Quarles  we  always  unite  in  our 


A    LIFE    STUDY.  B 

minds  the Bedfordsl lire  tiulier,  who  was  a  boy  wlion  Quarlos  died. 
The  "Pilgrim's  Trogress,"  and  the  "llo'ly  War,"  are  but  sustained 
systems  of  emblematic  teaching,  and  to  their  wonderful  power 
many  generations  will  testify  at  the  judgment-day.  The  design 
of  the  present  book  is  to  bring  Man's  life  in  its  highest  interests 
and  relations  pictorially  before  the  eye  and  mind,  after  the  manner 
of  Quarles  and  Bunyan,  from  which  the  child  may  gather  with 
delight  and  in  which  the  man  may  explore  with  careful  and  well 
rewarded  study.  We  feel  assured  that  such  books  come  nearer  to 
the  heart,  and  do  more  to  establish  it  in  truth,  than  the  most  eru- 
dite tomes  of  scientific  theology.  In  this  belief  we  commend  the 
present  volume  to  the  guidance  of  Him,  who  uses  the  weak  things 
of  this  world  to  confound  the  things  which  are  mighty,  that  by 
these  emblems  human  hearts  may  be  instructed,  rebuked  and  com- 
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